


Blue Sky Anguish

by truc



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: Attempted Seduction, Danger, Death, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Love, M/M, Madness, Manipulation, Mind Control, Regret, power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-04-24 05:33:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14348985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truc/pseuds/truc
Summary: Bruce wakes up in restraints in the Fortress of Solitude. His mind hurts and Clark is unwilling to explain anything.





	1. Today

The first thing Bruce noticed upon waking up was the restraints around his arms and legs. He tried moving his limbs to see if there was any give. There wasn't any. His neck was the only part he could detach from the table.

He could not feel any wounds or injuries. 

The room he was in was a bland white, but the texture he recognized.

"Clark," he called out, "What do you think you are doing," more a threat than a question. 

There was a silence, that Bruce decided was a hesitation before an answer was provided, "You were hurting yourself." Bruce recognized the tone of the voice. It was Clark's deeply apologetic one mixed with a wary and tired one. 

"What happened," Bruce asked his head trying to take everything in. Theories building and deconstructing in rapid fire.

No answer from the closed walls. 

Bruce tried to centre himself. He knew Clark, no matter the circumstances, could not let him bound alone in a room without anything to do for a prolonged period of time. This had hesitation marked all over.

Unfortunately, the billionaire's mind whirled in emotions and stray thoughts, thus preventing his meditation attempt. 

A door opened and Clark's face observed Bruce from the doorway, eyes hopeful and scared at once. 

"What happened," Bruce ordered his best friend with impatience. He knew he was powerless physically against Superman even without the restraints, but he was fully aware his greatest asset was not physical strength. Clark could not make him feel truly vulnerable by removing his physical strength. It was ludicrous in itself. 

The superhero walked slowly into the room, glancing in the corners before returning to his best friend's eyes, "I'm sorry."

Bruce could see he was at that. Frustration welled in his chest, "What. Happened."

Clark's eyes were filled with blue tinted sadness and pity, "I don't think I should tell you."

Bruce had always thought his best friend was infuriatingly talkative, however, this cryptic behaviour was not helping his already bad mood. 

"So, your grand plan is to tie me up in your Fortress, apologize for something and refuse to tell me anything," the eternally unimpressed man grumbled out.

Clark sighed, "Must you always start this way?"

Always start. This has occurred before. More than once.

"There should be nothing wrong in telling me all about it," Bruce answered.

Clark's look sharpened at that. He shook his head, "No. I have seen how it goes and I can't go through it again."

"I'm just supposed to accept you tying me in a blank room in the Fortress is your best option?" Bruce questioned, eyebrow raising at the statement.

Clark sat on the only furniture in the room, except the table Bruce was tied spread-eagled on, a simple chair. It was a calculated distance away from Bruce's table as if he was the dangerous tiger or panther and Clark was the human feeding him. "Trust me. It is for the best." 

Bruce reconsidered the situation. Clark was scared of Bruce for some reason, nonetheless, he also felt guilty towards him. As much as Bruce's mind tried to, he couldn't recall what was the last thing that happened. 

Bruce's raised head hit the table with a thud. "I see. No talking about you imprisoning me in your Fortress. Any other rules I should be made aware if I choose to continue living here?" his sarcastic voice continued. One side of Clark's lips tugged upwards before his face became forcefully blank.

It was strange Clark was the one being silent and Bruce the one yearning for a conversation. 

"How are they?" Bruce asked after a moment of looking at the white ceiling. 

"Alive," Clark answered, weary and guilty. 

The other man turned his head in Clark's direction, "I could have meant Lois and Jon, you know."

Clark sadly shook his head, "They are always the ones you think of first." 

"And second?"

"Gotham is still Gotham. Vigilantes and villains."

Clark must have had this conversation often.

"Before you ask, Bruce, the League is doing just fine. They are still operating worldwide," he added.

They. Not we. Meaning Clark and Bruce were no longer working in the League. 

"How often have we had this conversation before?" Bruce asked. Clark avoided his eyes and leaned forward so his hands could cover his eyes, "Too often."

"What's your plan?" Bruce asked, taking in the trembling figure of his best friend. 

Clark's blank eyes met his before looking at the floor. "I don't have one," he half-heartedly admitted.

"Why not? I hope you are not just leaving me on this table until I die." 

Clark flinched.

Think Bruce, think, he thought. 

"What can we discuss? I would like a conversation."

Instead of being relieved by this new direction, Clark seemed crestfallen, "Rao, Bruce, can you just leave it for now? We both know you only want information from me now." 

Now. This meant Bruce would want something else later. 

Bruce huffed and tried concentrating on his breathing. His mind kept making various theories and escape plans. Clark was key to anything.

"Clark, this is becoming uncomfortable. Could you just release me from the restraints? It seems clear to me I have no weapon or ways of communicating with outside. I can't escape from this room." 

Clark mussed up his own hair with his hands. Bruce had never seen his friend this distressed. 

"Clark, what are you scared of? You know I can't escape this place," Bruce's impatience was filtering into his voice. 

His best friend swallowed loudly while looking at the Kryptonian made restraints on Bruce's arms and legs, "I shouldn't have come in. I'm sorry Bruce." He stood up and quickly walked to the door. 

"Wait!" Bruce's desperate voice yelled, "Don't leave me here alone."

Clark paused, "You think I like this situation any more than you? It is torture for me to see you like this." With that, he walked out and closed the door.

For the first time in a long time, Bruce panicked. 

His mind was betraying him with a growing headache. Clark was keeping him prisoner and wouldn't tell him anything. He seemed to know exactly how Bruce was thinking because they had apparently done this before. This was bad. 

He snarled throwing his head side to side, his neck hurting. He wanted to scream and pound walls just to get his growing frustration out, just to feel alive. This was a reaction he had long opted out by careful control of his body. His mind wasn't working as it should. 

The ceiling blurred in a headache and Bruce vaguely thought he was screaming in pain before he blacked out.


	2. Another Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day two of (this) Bruce's memory of his imprisonment. Clark is still as cryptic.

Bruce woke up still tied to the table in the Solitary Fortress. This time his neck was hurt, but his headache had subsided.

"Clark," he called out in a raspy voice.

There was a silence before a hesitant voice answered him, "I'm still here."

The imprisoned man wanted to ask his best friend all sorts of question, but based on his past experience, he knew it was best to keep it simple, "I am hungry."

"What do you want to eat?" Clark's voice came from the walls.

"I don't really care."

There was no answer for almost three minutes as Bruce mentally counted the seconds waiting for something to work with.

"I'm making pasta. Is that okay?" Clark's asked in a strangely reminiscent way. It was the exact same tone he used when he was asking whether he should brew some extra coffee for Bruce.

"How am I supposed to eat?" Bruce swallowed his other, more impatient, replies.

"I'll remove your arm restraints."

It was strange Clark had seemed so horrified at letting him go last time Bruce had woken up and now he was agreeing with him this easily.

Half an hour later, Clark opened the door and wandered in with two plates with pasta, boiled carrots and forks. He smiled cautiously at Bruce, "I'll go fetch water after this trip."

Bruce nodded, unsure what to make out of Clark's behaviour. The Kryptonian put down the plates and reappeared with the glasses of water. He gently set them down on the ground and he approached Bruce's body.

He looked over Bruce's prone figure, his eyes stopping at his neck. Clark delicately touched the raw skin with his fingers and the other man had to fight not to wince at the painful contact.

"You have to be careful," Clark told Bruce softly, his fingers lingering on his neck, "You keep hurting yourself." There was more guilt in the statement than gentleness.

Bruce wanted to ask him why he was acting like this or why he was restrained. Instead, he chose another approach. "Then why don't you put another restraint there?" he asked with resentment.

Clark quirked an eyebrow, "I did, but you almost strangled yourself a few times."

From all Bruce could see, Clark did not want him dead or injured. Still, he didn't know why he had been restrained alone in a room.

Clark's hands lowered to Bruce's left arm without touching him. Superman gazed attentively at Bruce's face, "I will remove the restraints, Bruce. Please don't try anything. I hate using force to force you to restitute a fork or when you break the plate and hide a piece of shard. It is really a waste of time and your bad mood lasts a long while after."

How often had Bruce tried something? the man had to ask himself.

"So, no breaking plates or hiding forks. Okay, Bruce?"

Bruce nodded. If this had happened often, he couldn't use his usual techniques or Clark would see through his attempts. He needed something more subtle.

Superman removed restraints from Bruce's arms in a flash and he stepped out of Bruce's range while the man sat uncomfortably on the table. His muscle in his back, arms, neck and stomach protested at the movement.

"Easy Bruce, your body is not in its prime shape," Clark's gentle tone forced Bruce to look up at the person observing his every movement with genuine interest and wariness. The reporter shifted his weight from one foot to the another under the stormy glare Bruce sent his way. Was that embarrassment?

Slowly, Bruce lifted his arms to touch his face. Something was different, he could feel it in the texture of his skin, but he didn't know exactly what was wrong. He couldn't remember the last time he had touched his own face.

His arms were sluggish and weak. Bruce could see the restraints had left some marks on his arms. He must have had them for a long time for them to have made this much damages.

"How long have I been restrained here?" Bruce asked his arms.

"I don't think I should answer that," Clark's voice responded prudently, "But you really should eat. You are..."

There was an awkward pause.

'All skin and bones' automatically popped into Bruce's mind. That's what Clark's Ma always told him despite his well-defined muscles. Now, he really was 'all skin and bones'.

Bruce motioned Clark over to break the awkwardness. The plate, fork and glass of water all appeared within reach of Bruce.

Superman was still carefully outside Bruce's perimeter. His friend was scared of his physical presence. Why was that? And why had Superman's fingers lingered on his neck?

Those were good questions to be pondered later. Now, Bruce had to eat.

He started eating ravenously the pasta and the carrots in such an inelegant way Alfred would have scorned him about his manners. Bruce's dry mouth tasted the simple pasta dish as if it was a five-star meal.

Clark simply chuckled, sat in his chair and looked disinterestedly at his food without saying grace, which was normally what he did at his mother's house.

After Bruce's hunger was quickly abated by a small amount of food (this probably meant his stomach was a lot smaller now), he started attacking the issue of his continued existence in the Fortress. 

"What day of the year is it?"

Clark sighed, clearly upset with Bruce breaking their silent truce, "Bruce, I know your mind is working overtime to fill in the gaps in your memories, but can we not do it this soon?" Contrary to Bruce, the reporter had only played with his food, barely taking a bite of anything.

Direct attacks didn't work well even today when Clark was in a slightly better mood. Time to change techniques.

"Then, what is wrong with my mind?" Bruce finally asked, hesitance clear in his tone. He hated admitting weaknesses, but Clark was weak to Bruce's lowered defences, always had been.

Clark glared at his carrots as if it was their fault the conversation was getting out of hand. There was a cloud of sadness hanging around the superhero.

A theory sprung to Bruce's mind, one he frankly hated. Still, he had to make sure.

"Clark, when was the last time you visited your mother?" Bruce inquired before taking a sip of water.

Superman flinched at that, dropping his fork, his appetite clearly absent. He stared at his plate before sighing and turned his eyes to Bruce. "Do you truly not remember anything? It wouldn't be the first time you pretended to go back to being clueless."

Bruce shook his head, ticking off the strategies he had used. 

"And please, please don't go through the phase of saying hurtful things to see if I will drop my guard. It's just plain horrible," Superman pleaded with his eyes, tiredness plain in them, as he brought his hands to block his ears in a dumb repetition of a move he had done back then.

"I was never successful with my attempts?" Bruce casually asked, his hand gripping his glass in a reminder of what touching it felt like.

Clark looked more lost than anything else, "Your attempts... hurt. Me. You. Bruce, I don't have a plan, but you are making progress. Please wait it out and I'll let you out. Just trust me." He supplicated Bruce, both arms outreached, eyes hopeless, as if he had already asked the same of every memoryless Bruce until now and they had all refused. 

It was hopeless. Batman was faced with an interesting mystery about himself and he would get to the bottom of it.

Besides, Superman's speech more or less confirmed Bruce's theory was on the right track.

Now, Bruce only needed to know if he had done the preparatory work for his chance to change the situation.

"Clark, you won't even believe me if I told you I wouldn't try to escape. So..." Bruce's weak hand trembled a bit, spilling a bit of water on his clothes. 

Clark stared at him in horror seeing the red spot of pasta's sauce Bruce had discreetly drip on his light blue shirt with his unoccupied hand. Superman took one step forward unconsciously, before snapping out of it and stepping back.

"That's pasta sauce," he stated, anger clear in his tone.

"Yes."

There was an oppressing silence before Superman almost yelled at him, clearly seething, "Stop your mind games! You always torture me like this. Why can't you just leave me alone, Bruce?" 

Bruce raised an eyebrow at that, "You are the one imprisoning me in your Fortress without explaining anything to me. You are not in a position to complain about my 'games'."

Superman threw his hands up, "How many times do you think I tried explaining things?"

The still restrained man blinked. 

This pretty much confirmed his theory as true. The explanation made things worse, not better. Bruce tried not to gash his teeth together, feeling betrayed by Superman's actions. Clark should have known better than to... 

Bruce had to bend forward as a searing headache took over his head, his emotions on fire. He could feel himself breathing out of control, his body wracked with intense physical and emotional pain. 

"Bruce, calm down, please," he vaguely heard Superman try. Bruce couldn't think as he felt tremors all over himself, his hands gripping his head. Someone forced him back and put the restraints back on his arms.

As Bruce's head swam into darkness, he could hear Clark cry in a litany, hands barely touching him, "I'm sorry, Bruce. I'm so sorry..." A fixed notion entered Bruce's mind. 

Clark would pay for what he had done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not a long story so there will probably only be a few chapters more.


	3. For Whom the Bell Tolls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce acts completely out of character. Clark reacts.

The next time Bruce woke up, things were different. 

First of all, nothing hurt. There was no pain in the neck nor in the head. 

Secondly, he was strangely at peace with himself as if he no longer had any burdens nor worries.

Finally, Clark was actually in the room since the beginning. Watching him intensively as if he couldn't believe his eyes. 

"Bruce?" the superhero called out, slowly standing up.

"I'm fine," Bruce responded serenely, especially considering his present situation.

"Are you sure?" Clark asked, hands fidgeting.

The restrained man turned to his jailer, "Clark, come here."

The reporter blinked a few times before tentatively coming closer. 

"Remove my restraints," Bruce calmly stated more than ordered. 

Hesitatingly, Clark did so and stepped away from his friend. 

Bruce slowly pushed himself to the edge of the table, both legs hanging over the edge. Everything should have hurt. Maybe it did, but he felt only numbness and weakness, his head floating in a tranquil space. 

"Bruce?" Clark asked, alert to every one of his actions.

Bruce tilted his head in Clark's direction, "Yes."

There was a nervous silence on the reporter's part, then, his voice shook when he mumbled incoherently, "What did you dream of...? You were smiling sincerely in your sleep. That's the first real smile I've seen on you since..."

His friend gave him a lazy smile and patted next to him as in invitation. 

For a drawn-out moment, it seemed Superman would not come near Bruce. However, his furrowed brows were more perplexed than scared this time. He walked at the sitting man's side peering at him from above. 

Bruce only gazed at him patiently, something utterly out of character for him except when it came to young children. 

Finally, Clark sat beside his best friend, eyeing him cautiously.

"What do you want to know?" Bruce asked magnanimously, seemingly entirely without trickery. 

"What did you dream? Why are you acting so... out of character?" Clark gestured to him, hesitating for the correct word. 

Bruce's laugh rang like silver bells, clear and pure, "I dreamt I was thoroughly at peace. I was whole."

Clark gulped at that, his face scrunching in pain and hands gripping the table. 

Bruce observed his reactions, putting clues together, despite his current content state.

"When was the last time you slept, Clark?" the man gently prodded. 

Kal swallowed,"Is this a new trick? A new weapon against me?"

"Just how many tricks did I try on you?" came the sweet reply. There was curiosity yet also detachment as if it didn't matter. 

Kal stared at his feet, "One day, you decided to recite the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in English, then in French, Spanish, Russian and Mandarin. It was obvious it was to protest the way I was holding you here despite your basic human rights. You did put special emphasis on Article three."

"But that is not exactly a trick, is it, Kal?" Bruce answered through half-lidded eyes. 

"No, still, it hurts," Clark slowly agreed. He licked his lips and continued, "In the beginning, I would let you wander in other rooms like the library. You used some protocol you had previously implanted here without my knowledge and almost escaped after my robots started attacking me."

Bruce made no reply. He could feel his body already tiring from sitting. 

"Then, at other times, you injured yourself on purpose and tried to escape when I took you to the medic room. I didn't even realize you knew how to use each tool in that room until then," a confiding Clark continued, his watchfulness of his friend still active. 

"Why can't I remember going to the restroom?" Bruce asked, leaning on Clark, his back no longer able to hold him upright by himself. The other man tensed at the action, looking wildly at Bruce. When nothing more happened, Clark expounded, "You don't need to. The table is advanced Kryptonian technology. It cleans up any 'mess'. Don't even think about corrupting it. You already tried and I have since severely limited its functions." 

Bruce felt his himself leaning more heavily on his best friend, his head lolling on Clark's shoulder. The Kryptonian perceptibly relaxed at his friend's obvious tiredness. 

"Are you okay, Bruce?" Clark's hand carded his hair to take the temperature from his forehead. 

"I shouldn't be here," Bruce mumbled out. He could feel his friend's encircling arm around his far shoulder, bringing him closer to himself and making sure unsteady Bruce would not fall off the table. Empathy had always been Clark's biggest strength... and weakness.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know where else to turn to," Clark admitted in a reassuring tone. Bruce could feel his friend's soft breath on his face. 

The extremely tired man had difficulty concentrating his thoughts as another slow headache started overtaking his mind. Still, he had the presence of mind to ask,"Why do you keep apologizing? It's annoying."

He could feel the hitch in Clark's breathing pattern and the subsequent swallow, "While I was being mind-controlled, I attacked you and I damaged your head so severely the Fortress of Solitude was the only place that could treat you. Unfortunately, some damage took longer to repair, which is why you are suffering headaches, severe mood swings and difficulty concentrating."

Clark was touch starved. Bruce could see the marks of his isolation. 

He was a Kryptonian and he looked tired and worn out for God's sake! 

Kal had winced at the mention of his mother and he hadn't wanted to speak of Lois and Jon on the first day of living at the Fortress of Solitude Bruce could remember. He was always there when Bruce would call for him. It probably meant Clark had more or less let go of his usual human social interactions to take care of Bruce. 

Bruce's blurry mind could further deduct this isolation was long-standing especially since it must have been over six months that Bruce was restrained here, based on the marks the restraints had made. 

Nobody else seemed to know Bruce was here, meaning Clark had hidden it from everyone else. 

"Bruce?" the other man's tenderly called out.

"Mmm...?" Bruce answered, mind already spiralling into sleep despite his will to stay awake.

A hand brushed the billionaire's hair in slow circling motions, "Are you really okay?" There was a clear worry.

"Tired. Five more minutes, Alfred," Bruce managed to grumble out, his head moving in concert with his friend's breathing pattern.

There was a pause before Clark murmured, "For what it is worth, Bruce, I'm glad you are alive."

The other man was too incoherent to respond. 

After, what seemed an eternity later, Bruce could feel the snug arms lift him up like a parent would with a sleepy child. He vaguely remembered doing the same with Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian.

In response to being held close to someone's chest, Bruce burrowed himself deep into the human warmth and the velvet voice that kept saying things his mind was too fuzzy to interpret. 

It was too bad Clark hadn't admitted the whole truth when given the opportunity, Bruce thought as his consciousness finally drifted away. If he had, Bruce might have mostly forgiven him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name of this chapter is based on Hemingway's famous novel and a Metallica's song. 
> 
> I realize the chapter's name is strange especially since Bruce is peaceful and all, but I liked the sound of it and I think it goes with the themes...


	4. Hostile Takeover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The status quo is somehow broken.

The first thing Bruce noticed as he slowly came to awareness was the arm around his chest. A man's arm. 

Alarms went off in his head. 

A villain was restraining him to finish him off. He had to manoeuver out of this position as soon as possible.

Then, he remembered: he was Clark's "guest" in the Fortress. The arm had to be Clark's. 

It required a different approach. 

Nonetheless, Bruce still tried to wiggle out from under the heavy arm.

"What are you doing?" a sleepy voice muttered out after a few moments of useless struggle. 

The man pinned on his best friend's mattress by said friend's arm was not impressed, "Clark, why am I here?" If there was anger in his reply, it was only fair since he was furious with Clark.

Clark mumbled out, "You looked so peaceful, I couldn't bear to restrain you back on the table. And I couldn't leave you unrestrained for obvious reasons. Thought you would like the feel of a real bed for once." 

Bruce glared at his comfy looking friend. Clark's face had pillow marks all over. 

"Let me go," Bruce growled out. The other man obeyed immediately by retracting the offending arm.

"Happy?" Clark asked, one eye open a crack.

Bruce slowly sat on the bed, turning his back to his friend, taking in the state of the room and ignoring his friend's quip. 

It was exactly as he remembered it; a photo of Lois, Clark and Jon and one of Ma and Pa on the night table. One lone mirror overlooking it and a mostly empty room except for the bed and some spare clothes in a walk-in-closet. Although, there were much more clothes in it than Bruce could ever remember seeing.

Bruce's body was mostly useless, already contesting the simple action of sitting. He further noted he wore the same clothes as before he had fallen asleep.

He heard the man behind him stirring, "Are you hungry?"

Bruce's analytical mind was slower than normal ("normal" as in before all this), nonetheless, it still performed its job adequately, choosing the correct wording for his confrontation. 

He turned back to see Clark's soft gaze resting on him, something fragile and incredibly fond in it. It fueled Bruce's frustration-filled and revenge-minded words, "You apologized for the wrong thing."

Instantly, his friend drew his defences up; his face grew blank and he sat up to be the same height as Bruce. "Bruce, can we not do this now?" he more or less pleaded. 

But Bruce was nothing if not impatient at this point, "You are not sorry for betraying my trust in you. You are sorry for what you did when you had no control."

His friend had a contrived look on, "Can we not do this now? I would rather postpone this conversation until you are feeling better."

"When exactly will that be?" Bruce cut him off mercilessly. 

Clark seemed lost, hesitation etched in his body language.

Bruce pressed on, "You don't think I would realize my body is growing weaker, not stronger? You say you restrain me for my own good. It is untrue; you are slowly killing me."

His friend protested the conclusion, "No, I'm not. I'm trying to stop you from harming yourself. Do you have any idea of how many times you tried to kill yourself?"

"With the IV, apparently. Now, my body is slowly dying of hunger," Bruce retorted, spite clear in his tone.

Clark nodded, "You poisoned your IV a few times and tried to strangle yourself with the cord. What else did you want me to do to keep you from killing yourself?"

"Don't put me back there again or I'll really die this time," the billionaire answered in a very dark tone. 

There was an awkward silence before the Kryptonian almost yelled, "You can't!"

"You know, Kal, from what you told me, you had to deal with me having episodes of suicidal acts."

The quiet voice of Bruce seemed to unnerve Kal more than his previous obvious anger. "Yes," Superman bravely admitted, swallowing his bad feelings about Bruce's most recent behaviour. 

"I've heard," Bruce calmly stated, fixing Kal's eyes with daunting stillness, "of a village of fishermen on a small island in the middle of nowhere in which the men seclude themselves in a hut when they think their time has come."

"And," Clark could not help ask, transfixed by his friend's quiet intensity.

"They die within 24 hours of the seclusion," Bruce continued. 

He briefly paused before continuing, "Many experts have theorized the fishermen learned how to slow their own heart until they stopped it completely. The mind has powers over the body researchers have yet to figure out. I have always wanted to figure it out myself."

For some time, Clark was quiet before he finally found his voice, "Are you threatening me with your own life...?"

The billionaire smiled nastily at him, his face twisting in an ugly expression the other man had probably never seen before, "I am not yet making threats. This is only a warning."

Clark's lips were trembling when he answered, "What exactly are you asking?"

"I'm not asking: I am demanding," Bruce tilted his head to see his friend's horrified reaction, "You will not restrain me back there ever again."

Clark shook his head, "You'll die if you are not in restraints. You'll gouge your eyes out or cut your wrists. You tried before. I can't let you die."

Bruce simply looked at him, as if they were discussing the next League meeting subjects, "I'll die if you put me back there. You could always sedate me in hopes I forget my decision. I would slowly languish into nonexistence. I admit I would die much more slowly that way."

"Stop," Clark asked, his hands on his ears as if it would stop his superhearing from hearing his friend's solutions.

"Or," Bruce leaned forward, "you could reveal my existence in the Fortress to the League and my family and let them deal with me."

"Please stop, Bruce. Just stop it."

"They will try to save me. They might succeed at that. They might also release their attention one second too long and I would cease to be. That would still solve everything," Bruce continued with relish at torturing his old friend.

"Stop!"

"Or you could let me stay here. You'll let me wander around, play with your technology..."

There was a long silence and Bruce could hear his friend's almost sobbing response, "What are you really after?"

Bruce knew he had won the game. 

"I want vengeance, Clark," he murmured to his scared looking friend. 

"What can I do to get it over with?" 

"I'll take what is most precious to you," Bruce slowly explained, "Not your strength, not your almost invulnerability and not your flying power. None of those are important."

"You would kill them?" Clark asked, tiredly.

"Why should I?" Bruce cocked his head as if his best friend was the one who had lost his mind. "I once dated Lois. I like her. As for Jon, well, if I remember correctly, he is a good friend of Damian's."

There was another pause, "What are you going to do then?"

Bruce lifted Clark's chin with a still weakened hand, "I'll make you betray her as you betrayed my trust. I'll make you break apart your family."

His best friend shivered fearfully in his grasp, however, he did not escape it.

"Don't worry. I'll make sure you enjoy it," Bruce reassured in a sugary tone that was dangerously fake. He caressed the strongest man on Earth with a feeble thumb, enjoying the slight trembling of the man's face under his ministrations.

He leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the other man's. Slowly, he licked the salty water running down the other man's face, "It will be hell."

Bruce knew he should feel bad for reducing his best friend to tears. He didn't.

He was gratified.


	5. Of Heaven and Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark finally explains some things.

Diana had never felt comfortable with the Fortress of Solitude. 

She had grown on a tropical island with an almost endless supply of sisters. She didn't understand nor like the cold and the loneliness the Fortress stood for, even if it was an important relic of a friend's past. 

She could count on one hand the times she visited the place. Mostly, Diana had come to show her respect to her friend's biological parents' statues. 

Now, she stood before the gigantic door, wondering why Kal had summoned her, especially by a simple text: "Diana, please come to the Fortress as soon as possible."

Kal never texted her if he could call her instead.

But then again, Kal had changed. 

She had tried to help him in the aftermath, but some wounds do not heal with sympathetic words and helpful suggestions. They had drifted apart, especially since Superman had mostly retired from his superhero duties. 

"Kal," she felt foolish addressing a door, "can you let me in? It is cold out here."

The door slid open and she could see lights illuminating a path. Good. She didn't need to get lost in the icy maze.

She followed the trail until it stopped outside a door. She pushed it open, thinking Kal was waiting for her inside and there was no need to knock in that case. 

The sight in front of her was shocking, not so much because usually prude and shy Kal was sitting completely naked in his bed, but because he looked defeated, his hands hugging his head with too much strength.

Not discouraged. Defeated. 

Not even a public defeat like the world ending and such. It was a type of private defeat Diana had never quite seen before in the alien.

At the sound of Diana shuffling in, Clark lifted his face in her direction and she saw his brief brilliant hope dashed into bitter disappointment. 

"Kal..." she managed to mumble out as she walked closer. 

"Diana," he croaked out in pain.

"What is wrong?"

He sighed looking in another direction, "I suppose Bruce sent you."

Bruce?

If Diana had been uneasy before, she now was beset by worries. 

She shook her head, "You sent me a message."

He patted the place beside him, "You might as well sit."

Diana carefully sat and she took her time taking in her friend's body language to verify how unhinged he was. He didn't seem mad at all, which was doubly as concerning.

"What happened?" she finally asked.

He exhaled loudly, still looking at the same wall as he had been since she had come in, "After... After the incident, I tried to continue my life as I had before. I went to work. I spent time saving people, fighting villains and with my family. Lois, Ma and Jon were all trying to help. It wasn't enough. Lois recommended I seek psychological help. I did. For months, I consulted experts, with a fabricated story but close enough to the situation it could be interpreted as seeking help."

Diana had been aware of his struggles. She had suggested seeking J'onn J'onzz's help. It wasn't common for people to seek help for accidentally killing their best friend while being mind-controlled.

She quietly laid a soothing hand on his arm, "And?" He didn't respond in any way to the contact. Neither had he seemed to take note of her presence other than as a confidant.

He swallowed, "I really tried to get over it. It made things worst. They would always tell me I should let my guilt go. On your advice, I consulted J'onn. He told me he could not help me as I did not want to grieve. Then, I didn't understand what he meant. Now, I see he did try to guide me."

Diana had known about this part from talking with the rest of the League and Lois. She wasn't sure what exactly had made him hide away in the Fortress. 

"For the first time in my life, I had the brief thought of ending my life just to stop feeling the void. I knew I couldn't go on like that. Six months after his death, I finally decided it was time to see Talia Al Ghul."

Diana stilled, "Talia? Doesn't she hate you? Why would you go see her?"

He made a rueful sound, "She still does. However, I knew she would help me put him in the Lazarus Pits anyway because she loved him."

Diana's thoughts swirled. She was silent for a prolonged moment, "You brought Bruce back to life with the Lazarus Pits?"

He nodded, "I did." 

She stared at him, "How did he take it?"

Kal closed his eyes and exhaled loudly, "Did you know I was his power of attorney?"

"I didn't," Diana simply answered, still reeling from the news Bruce was apparently alive.

"He gave me specific instructions. Among other things, he told me to stop any attempts to bring him back to life, especially by way of the Lazarus Pits. He admitted he had chosen me as his power of attorney because he couldn't be sure his children wouldn't succumb to the temptation. He thought I could talk them out or seek help doing so."

The irony of the situation wasn't lost on Diana, "But you still did it."

His hoarse voice answered, "I did."

Now, Diana understood his assumption about Bruce sending her a text. 

"What happened?" she asked again, kindly, trying to get more context for Kal's desperation.

"It... is a long story," Kal replied looking at the same wall with saddened eyes. 

He swallowed hard, "I stole his body from his grave and I brought him to Talia's meeting place. I was the one who submerged his body. He didn't react well. He screamed and trashed. He kept trying to harm himself. Talia suggested the side effects from his revival were particularly grave. She had not seen anyone react that severely before. She recommended I find someplace secure nobody could harm him nor he, them. I thought of the Fortress."

"You brought Bruce here? Wait. You said you saw Talia six months after his death... That was over six months ago," Diana realized with a start. 

Kal nodded, "Yes, it was. At the start, he was dangerous for himself all the time. He was instinctively trying to hurt or kill himself. I had to restrain him most of time. It was horrible," Kal concluded, clenching his fists. 

"Then, he started having periods of lucidity and, in a way, it was even worst."

"How so?" Diana slowly caressed her friend's bare back, hoping to give him the comfort he sorely needed. 

"He would try to escape all the time and he would be... unpleasant to me."

Diana let the silence grow stale until she questioned, "Didn't you explain the situation to him?"

Kal made an amused and muffled sound, "I did. Each time, he grew furious with me and wanted to get out."

"Each time?" Wonder Woman asked, confused.

"Ah. I forgot to tell you about his amnesia. It was part of the side effects he suffered. At the start, he would forget his previous period of lucidity every time he slept, so he would try the same tactics to escape. Then, the periods he could last began to be longer and longer and his bouts of insanity were much shorter. A month and a half ago, he... forced me not to restrain him anymore."

"Forced you? How could he force you?" Diana pressed, even though she was well aware of Bruce's ways of convincing people. 

"He hinted he would take away his life when he was lucid if I restrained him again," Kal shivered at the thought. 

"Why didn't you ask for help? You knew we would have helped you and him," Diana softly whispered back, her heart breaking for the powerful Kryptonian sitting vulnerable beside her.

For the first time, he looked her right in the eyes and she sees the depth of his desperation. "I couldn't," he mouthed. Then he added, face turning away, "He was dangerous for anyone around him. He... knows how to hurt anyone with words. He wanted to make me pay for resurrecting him and I believe he really was going to kill himself if I had asked for help. It was my fault from the start."

"No, it isn't," Diana tried to reassure him.

He denied it with his head, "I knew the risks of bringing him back and I still wanted to do it."

"Kal, you didn't kill him. You were controlled. They killed him."

"I know. Still, I didn't..." he stopped talking. Diana almost thought he would dissolve into sobs. Thank Hera he didn't. 

"Kal, you said he wanted revenge against you? What sort of revenge?"

Kal shook his head, "He wanted to make me... 'betray' Lois as I had betrayed him. He wanted to make me destroy my family life."

Diana blinked at the implications and remembered Kal's naked state and his look of hope when she had first entered the room. She looked more carefully around and she observed a picture of Kal with his parents and one of him with Lois and Jon overseeing the bed, whose function no longer seemed entirely innocent. There was also two pants lying hazardously on the ground. 

"You bedded your mentally and emotionally unstable best friend because he told you it was revenge and you felt guilty for killing him while being mind-controlled?" Diana asked, incredulous. 

Kal's eyes on her were no longer simply miserable and depressed. They were so passionate, it made her recoil.

"You think," he started in fury-filled voice, his jaw locking down, "that it was just that? That I would just cheat on Lois just to try absolving myself from guilt?"

"I'm sorry, Kal. I'm just trying to put the pieces together. This is giving me a headache," Diana cautiously explained.

His face softened, "I know how it looks. It's just... Maybe you are right. You just don't know how Bruce is when he concentrates all his attention on you... No missions. No kids. No distractions. Just him."

Patience, Diana reminded herself, I almost have the entire story from him. 

"Then?"

Kal's eyes drifted to the wall, "At the beginning, I thought Bruce only told me he wanted to seduce me to an affair because he wanted to disturb me. However, he didn't do anything after. We would look at black and white movies together and comment on the execution of its plot mechanisms and how when the themes were explored. We discussed the actors. It seemed innocent enough. Then, we would start discussing art. Did you know Bruce's favourite painter is an obscure one from the 19th century?" Kal was speaking increasingly fast. 

"And we would randomly start conversations in Kryptonian. Did you know he was the only one who learned it that has no Kryptonian heritage nor is a robot? We would spend afternoons exploring strange cultural rituals as well as botany on Krypton. It served no purpose other than fun. I would recite poetry to him and..." Kal dropped his sentence as he seemed to notice Diana's amused look. 

His eyes shone with more glee and childlike pleasure than the Amazon had seen in him in a long time. They turned serious without transition.

He quietly confessed, crisscrossing his hands together, "He told me things I didn't know I wanted someone to tell me. I told him things I had never told anyone. He told me things I doubt he even told Alfred."

Now that the fun enthusiasm had morphed into a quiet seriousness, the Amazon could decode the reason behind her friend's mood swings. 

In retrospective, it seemed obvious. 

She patted him on the back, waiting for his tale to come to its tragic conclusion. Kal considered the wall with the same sharpness as at the beginning of their meeting.

"One day... One day, he looked at me with one eyebrow quirked and amused eyes. I didn't think. I kissed him," at that, Kal gripped hard the Amazon's hand in his hand as if the emotion from that day was still so vivid he needed a physical reminder of the present. 

"The first second, my heart stopped because he didn't kiss me back. Then, my heart almost broke my chest when he kissed back. Diana, that was when I realized I was in love with Bruce. When I realized I had been in love with him for a very long time." 

Diana wasn't sure how to describe Superman's face except by the word 'raw'. 

She simply waited for the end of the confession. When Kal didn't pursue his thoughts, she gently prodded, "Kal... How could you not know you were in love with him?"

He smiled at her half-heartedly, "Because he's Bruce."

He paused an instant. 

"Because he's himself, I thought it was normal to think about him all the time. To worry about his whereabouts. To put extra efforts to decipher his actions. To want to give him hope. To help him feel loved. I thought it was normal to feel that way about him as a friend."

And Diana understood Kal. 

It was difficult to abandon Bruce to his lonely and dangerous path. 

As a friend. 

Or as a lover.

The feeling of helplessness and the intense desire to help were the same no matter your desired relationship with the man. 

Diana pressed her shoulder into Kal's trying to give him the feeling of solidarity he needed to continue this heavy confession. 

"Besides," he continued, "I had only fallen in love with two people before him and it didn't feel anything like I felt with him. I wanted to touch him, but I had never fantasized about him before then. With him, it was as if falling in love was like throwing stones in a well to measure its depth. It was so vast I didn't notice it was taking that much space in me." Diana nodded her understanding despite the fact Superman did not see her as he was facing away.

"With my new awareness, I realized I had already been emotionally cheating on Lois for a while. I knew that was Bruce's revenge. It wasn't just the casual sexual cheating he was going for. It was the all-encompassing feeling I wanted to be with him even if I had promised myself to someone else. " 

Diana sadly shook her head, vividly remembering how fidelity was an important part of Kal's marriage with Lois. 

"I didn't make love to Bruce right away even if we both wanted. I made sure his amnesia was completely cured. I didn't want him to forget our first time. We slept together. It was... indescribable. Bruce was not kidding when he said I would enjoy our time together."

Diana could feel the slight trembling racking her friend's body, "He was not kidding when he said it was hell. Bruce has the perfect timing to ruin moments with wry statements or comments. He would talk about Lois and Jon or say horrible things about me during one of our serene moments. He would compare me negatively to Selina during an intimate moment. Bruce knew how to break me apart and rebuilt me over and over. He was a nightmare. But I still didn't want to wake up from it. It was breaking me apart."

Kal took a deep breath, "This morning when I woke up, I was giddy with excitement at watching Bruce wake up. Normally, his eyes would slowly focus on my face and a small smile would greet me. This morning, there was disgust etched on his face instead. I knew he didn't want me to touch him or speak to him. I let him escape the room. He hates me. I'm falling to pieces."

Kal made a waving gesture toward himself and Diana could sense the intricate truth in his statement. Kal was falling to pieces. 

"I'm sorry, Kal," Diana whispered because it was hard to find words to cheer him up. His desperation was still as tangible as when she had first stepped into the room. Poor Kal, she thought. 

"He called you," Superman finally muttered defeatingly, "You should go see him."

"I will," Diana answered. She couldn't think of anything more to tell him. 

She gave him one long awkward hug and she walked to the only exit. Just as she had her hand on the door, he told her back, "I don't regret bringing him back. My heart was rotting away at his death. It... just hurts."

Diana's heart tugged at those simple words. There was not much she could do to help Kal now.

It was time to see Bruce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was supposed to be a Bruce scene, but this chapter was long enough without it. Contrary to what I said last chapter, it will take more than one chapter to finish this...
> 
> This was the plot reveal chapter. I hope everything now makes sense (well, maybe, with the exception of part of Bruce's behavior?). In this story, Bruce's body and mind is greatly affected by the Lazarus Pits, thus the amnesia, the suicidal urges, the difficulty in concentrating, loss of self-control and the rawness of his emotions... His face was a different texture because the Pits made him lose years.
> 
> This plot was actually inspired by Nightwing for two reasons. 
> 
> 1)In one of his special possible future stories, Superman does kill Batman while being mind controlled.  
> 2) When Nightwing takes over as Batman (after his presumed 'death'), he tries to resurrect the body he thinks as Bruce with the Lazarus Pits.


	6. Too Easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce talks. Things are still endlessly complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution. Some gory details.

For the first thirty seconds, Diana simply stared at a very much alive Bruce Wayne typing things away at the Fortress's computer and completely ignoring her after making her do a long trip at his request. The nerve. 

At least, that hadn't changed. 

Although, his body had. 

She couldn't remember exactly how many wrinkles he had had before his death, however, she was pretty sure he now had less. He also looked more gaunt. Maybe it was a case of bad memory, especially since the last she had seen his body, it had been severely damaged by Superman. 

She had been the first one to arrive on the site in the aftermath and to fight Kal off until J'onn J'onzz could undo Superman's mental compulsions. Fortunately for everyone involved, Diana was able to slow down Superman without too much damage. 

But the real damage had already been dealt.

It had taken a long time for Diana to calm Superman enough to wash away Bruce's blood spilt on his hands, face and clothes. Understandably, Kal had gone into shock; his face had been twisted in confusion, his tongue couldn't articulate correctly and his limbs were trembling all over. Diana had cradled Kal for a prolonged moment. 

Later on, she had also been the one to remove Bruce's disturbingly mangled corpse. She was a warrior and she had seen Aries' influence on Earth in battlefields before, but lifting her friend's too light remains was difficult, even with her built-in resilience in that regard.

The Amazon could understand why kind Barry had vomited his breakfast or why Hal had hovered hesitatingly a good distance away.

She remembered cradling the motionless corpse against her and looking at what was left of his face. Back then, he was even paler than usual, his lifeforce splattered in red droplets over a thirty meters surface, and Diana could remember thinking it was too bad she would never again see his stormy blue eyes puzzling over a problem. 

He really is alive, she sighed with relief, as she looked at the figure ignoring her. Bruce is not even missing a limb or a patch of skin. She could congratulate herself in picking up his pieces. He no longer is the one for whose closed casket funeral I had to prepare a eulogy. 

"Bruce," she ordered his attention.

"Diana," he answered without stopping his typing. 

"You look rather well for a dead man," she teased in her lighter tones. She preferred to keep it light because she was sure as Apollon's predictions this conversation was going to turn very dark much too soon. 

He stopped typing and whirled his chair to glare at her. 

"Is that any way to greet me, after you summoned me here?" In other circumstances, she would have said something about his gall of ordering around an Amazonian Princess like a servant. The humour would not facilitate this important interview.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing for a few seconds before opening them again. He simply abruptly acknowledged her, "Diana."

She crossed her arms over her chest, "Bruce, I won't even pretend this set-up doesn't upset me. You've been dead and brought back. How are you feeling now?"

He continued glaring at her, "It was too easy," he reluctantly confessed. She sat on the chair beside him. She noticed he moved his chair away from her. 

"Coming back to life was easy?" she asked, puzzled. This was exceedingly different from Kal's account of the situation.

"No. Manipulating people is too easy."

She did not respond for some time and he continued his line of thought, "There is no on or off switch for manipulation. Dick was always complaining I was manipulating everyone around me. It is as second-nature for me as your strength and Clark's are. But I tried. With you and Clark, I really tried to limit it."

Diana leaned forward, not missing how her friend flinched away at her proximity. "But you can't lie to me, Bruce," she tried to reassure him, trying to alleviate his guilt. 

He shook his head, "I don't always need to lie to manipulate. It is hard to separate my goals from my everyday interactions."

He looked at his hand and Diana could hear his mind whirling. 

"Bruce, you can apologize to Clark if you are feeling so guilty about your behaviour."

Bruce tilted his head to better glare at her, "No. I lost that friendship. We both lost it. He had no right to resurrect me against my wishes and for his own satisfaction. He had no right to let me manipulate him when he knew I was still affected by the Lazarus Pits."

Diana felt a need to defend Clark, "He did not want to hurt you. He is hurt by his own indecision."

"No, he is not. The idiot still does not regret bringing me back to life. He thinks the superhero game is like being a firefighter. We both know otherwise. It has more of the nastiness of war than the makings of a honorable profession." Diana could surprisingly read Bruce's emotions with ease. He was furious.

"That idiot is still reeling from the mind games you have been playing with him," Diana responded softly, still trying to reach him. She knew Bruce usually showed anger to hide vulnerability, shame or sadness.

"What do you want me to say, Diana?" There was a genuine question despite the sarcasm embedded in the comment.

"Well, you can probably start with 'Hi' and 'Sorry' and go into deeper topics afterwards," she replied as lightly as she could manage while looking into her friend's gleaming eyes.

He glowered, "It's not funny, Diana. I just lost one of my most important friendship and there is no getting it back."

Ah. So, that was what was upsetting Bruce. That beside Clark's betrayal, his own manipulation and his getting back to life. 

"Are you sure it is all gone?" she prodded as gently as she could, trying to avoid scaring him off.

He glanced at his hands and acknowledged it with a nod.

"Why?"

He swallowed, "I really tried to limit my manipulation of you and Clark. Still, I picked things up during our time together and... I was still affected by the Lazarus Pits. I used it against him. All of it."

"How?" she asked delicately, knowing better than to give him physical contact as she had with Clark.

"Touch for one. Clark's favourite superpower is flying because he likes the feeling. He sees the world in a more tactile way than either you or me. His relationship with others is confirmed by touch. He hugs his mother; he pats Jimmy's back; he kisses Lois; he ruffles Jon's hair; he touches your elbow. I know, as his friend, I have always denied him touch much more often than he would have liked. Since we've been friends, he did want more physical platonic contact with me, but I wouldn't let him."

Bruce looked at the now blank computer's screen, "Because he had to spend all his time supervising me after my resurrection, he had to limit his affirming touch with everybody else. When I forced him to release me from restraints, he had no choice to follow me around all the time to stop me from killing myself, further isolating him from his other social relationships. I acted like an efficient domestic abuser, forcing him to only pay attention to me."

Bruce's face stayed featureless as he continued, "I knew he was starving from physical and social deprivation. I used it to my advantage. It was easy."

Bruce sighed, one hand covering his forehead in shame, "I not only let him touch me, I touched him. He was so touch starved, he would have almost begged for a pat on the back. I used it against him. I gave him platonic touches mixed with more sensual ones to mess with his mind. He couldn't even tell the differences between them anymore."

"And?" Diana was scared what he would explain now, but she had to bring the silent man back to this time and place.

Bruce looked back at her, his eyes filled with many emotions Diana wasn't sure she could name, "I used the gaps in his relationship with Lois to my advantage. For example, a few years back, Clark and Lois had discussions about whether or not Jon should learn Kryptonian. They arrived at the conclusion they wouldn't teach him, but that Jon could learn if he wanted to when he was older. I was aware Clark had been having a hard time since he came for me for help. He always felt he wasn't honouring enough his biological parents' culture as he should as one of the last of Krypton's descendant." 

Diana had not known about that small fight between Kal and Lois, but from what she had heard from Kal, she knew where this was going. 

"I explored his Kryptonian culture with him, without outside interferences. I spoke Kryptonian. He loved hearing me pronounce his name in it. It was easy." Bruce said, distractingly pronouncing a word that may have been Kal El, still, Diana couldn't be sure. 

"I used his isolation, his need for touch, his cultural barriers, his curiosity and his language against him, but my best two weapons were vulnerabilities and his guilt," the man continued with a frown. 

"His vulnerabilities?" the Amazon asked, still trying to decode all of Bruce's presumed manipulation of Kal.

Bruce glared, "Mine."

She stared back.

"I really wasn't acting as myself," he declared as if he was sure she would contest that statement. Unfortunately, Diana knew weaknesses were not something he would readily admit to anyone even in order to manipulate someone.

"I also lied and told him the things he wanted to hear to feel special, but guilt-tripping him at the same time," Bruce continued relentlessly to his own destruction. Diana arched an eyebrow at that.

He shrugged, "I caressed him and told him I had never been with a man before my death. That I wanted to try it now. That the only man with whom it could have meaning was him. He believed it. It was really too easy."

Diana could sense the cleverness in the phrasing. Bruce had of course used "before my death" to remind Clark he had been the one closing his possibilities and should take responsibilities. At the same time, Bruce had insinuated Clark was the only man he had wanted to sleep with. 

She swallowed. The Amazon could not see any easy fix in Bruce's and Clark's relationship. Kal may have ripped apart Batman's body, however, according to both of them, Bruce had also ripped apart Clark's psyche to pieces.

She looked up to see Bruce shrewdly examining her, "Why did you call me exactly?"

He stood up, "To bring me home, of course. I am not dealing with Clark now and probably never again if there are no superhero urgency forcing otherwise. We both went too far. Me, in my revengeful manipulation: him, in his disregard for my wishes and by letting me do anything to him as revenge. We are no longer friends."

Diana wanted to bridge the distance but she could see the determination in his eyes. Moreover, it was not the right time to discuss the matter. Bruce was still recovering from his own death. 

She also stood and quietly accompanied him toward the exit. He didn't say a word. As they approached the gigantic door, Diana noticed the Kryptonian dressed in ceremonial garbles and sitting cross-legged on the cold floor. She stopped, wondering if she would have to interfere. 

Bruce did not stop. He walked around Kal without glancing at him.

"You miscalculated, Bruce," a strangely composed Kal calmly uttered from the floor. 

Bruce didn't deign to answer his former friend as he was at the door. He tried to open it, but it didn't budge. He turned venomously to Kal, "Are you still trying to force me to stay?"

Kal shook his head without looking behind himself, "I won't force you to stay."

Bruce didn't find it funny as the door was still closed. He scowled at Kal.

"I just want you to hear what I have to say. Would you mind sitting in front of me, Bruce, until I have finished saying my piece?"

Bruce leaned his back on the door and crossed his arms, "Just get it over with. I don't want to waste more time here than I strictly need to."

Kal nodded thoughtfully, his back still turned to Bruce, "Then, I will keep it simple. You miscalculated. You asked Diana to come for one specific reason."

The Amazon facing both men could note the frown on Bruce's face as well as Kal's determined one. She hadn't seen that look on Kal's face since Bruce's demise. 

After that incident, the rest of the Justice League had been uncomfortable in Superman's presence. It was hard to wipe from your memory his bloodthirsty appearance that fatal day. Besides, Superman also went out of his way to avoid them, only appearing when needed in an emergency. They had all tried to comfort him, without success. Wonder Woman had even said to J'onn that Superman needed time and her friend had answered, "Diana, there are some things time does not heal."

Now, both men were dressed in different shades of blue: Bruce's shirt was a royal blue while Kal sported a light blue sky Kryptonian garble. Diana could see how much alike and different they were at once. Bruce would hide behind layers upon layers of repressed emotions and thoughts while Kal would hide his complexity in a projected appearance of calm and friendliness. 

"You asked Diana to come to break my heart," Clark continued with confidence. Bruce didn't answer either verbally or physically to the accusation.

"She was your painful break-up text. With her, you could say you were only manipulating me to be with you, regardless of whether it was the truth or not. You knew I would be listening," the seated superhero continued.

Bruce leaned back his head, his calculating eyes narrowing on Clark. 

"You didn't need her to bring you back. I know you can hack a plane to your rescue. But you didn't. You made a game of showing you regretted manipulating me. That shows me you have something to hide," Clark pursued, still looking in front of himself. Diana was slightly taken aback by his insight; it was sometimes hard to remember how smart and clever he was when he normally only showcased his physical strength.

"There is really only one thing you could have wanted to hide. The Lazarus Pits made you lose your self-control and now, you have regained enough to know you showed real vulnerabilities to me. Bruce, you may still hate me for what I did, but I know for certain, now, you also love me," Kal stated, bringing forward his argument. Diana could see the slight glow of his cheeks at the last sentence as if he was still so enamoured with Bruce it would be hard for him to present Bruce as his boyfriend without blushing.

The man leaning on the door simply and unostentatiously answered, "Clark, we both know that was an illusion to hurt you. And it did hurt you enough. Clark, it is time you went back to Lois. You'll just end up wasting your time and hurting yourself. Don't put me in that position. I don't want to hurt you anymore." 

There was so much sincerity in his words, Diana, Goddess of truth, didn't know who was telling the truth. However, she could also remember Bruce admitting it was easy to manipulate people, easy to make them think something without lying. Wonder Woman wanted to believe Kal's analysis of the situation. If Bruce did regain his self-control and was in love with Clark, he would find a way to void any meaning Kal may attach to his actions. 

A small voice of doubt whispered in her mind that he would also do the same whether or not he was in love with Kal. She shook her head. It wasn't her battle. It was theirs.

Kal nodded, sadly but unsurprised, and pronounced some words in a foreign language. It might have been Kryptonian.

Bruce's face grew pained as the words continued. Then, the word flow stopped. 

Bruce answered in English, "Clark, stop this grotesque play. You don't love me in that way. I manipulated you to believe you were."

Kal exhaled and pronounced again something in another language, the same as before. It went on longer this time. Diana could see his fiery determination and Bruce's growing unease. 

"Stop! You don't love me like that! You are just hurting yourself with this!" Bruce yelled, clearly distressed. Diana pitied him.

For the first time since Kal had been waiting cross-legged on the floor, he turned around and looked directly into Bruce's eyes. He continued his proclamation with a passionate tone that vibrated hope and love. Diana could feel it even if she didn't understand a word.

Bruce was panting as if Kal had been viciously tormenting him, and both hands were on the door, "Have you finished hurting yourself with those lies? Now, let me go. I don't want to hear any more of my own fabricated deception. You don't think I feel bad enough about it already?"

Diana could see Kal's shoulders dropping. Still, he said something so softly, she didn't hear him. Bruce recoiled. With regret, Kal stepped back and simply observed Bruce with unnerving acceptance and love. 

Diana stepped forward until she was standing next to Kal. Bruce had had time to blank out his face, although she could feel the deep turmoil underneath the facade. 

"Can we leave?" Diana finally asked after a moment. Kal nodded and the door opened. Bruce rushed out without a glance at his former friend. She felt a tug at her heart. 

She turned to Kal and he was still looking forlornly at the door. 

"Are you going to be okay, Kal?"

He nodded absently and took some clothing Diana hadn't noticed that was beside the door and gave it to her, "His body is still recovering. He will be cold on the way back. Will you take care of him?" There was a simple plea in his request and in his eyes. He wanted her to help Bruce adjust to his life. 

She solemnly swore, "I'll look after him."

He seemed reassured, "Thanks."

"Are you going to be okay?" She reiterated. 

"I'll need some time to think. I'll have to speak to Lois. I had never wanted to hurt her like this, especially since she tried to help me all the time. Diana, I spoke to her every day until a month and a half ago."

Diana had heard enough confessions today. She simply hugged him and went to her invisible plane's location. 

Bruce sat miserably in the back seat, looking at Superman's special place with veiled thoughts. 

Diana sat in front of him, handled him Kal's clothing and started the plane. She didn't see him put it on, but the next time she turned around to check on him, he was wearing a dark red scarf. 

"Are you going to explain to me why you are so angry you have been resurrected? Except for Jason, of course," Diana whispered.

She could sense his hesitation and she knew it wasn't the time to push for more information, but Bruce was so emotionally fragile he actually answered the question, "Did he tell you I was at peace? That I don't remember anything about being dead except that serenity and acceptance of myself? I was complete, Diana, as I had never been in my life before. They also grieved me for over a year. And now I have to disrupt all of their lives again. What will happen the next time I die? Should they wait because they think someone will resurrect me again or will they grieve me again and again until it no longer has any meaning?" 

Diana had turned and had seen the traces of pain and sadness in Bruce's face as he said it. He could remember the feeling and he was probably chasing that feeling. She could read his frustration. He thought he will never taste that much acceptance in reality. Who was she to blame him? 

Unfortunately, she also thought of something she had not done before. 

Bruce's type. 

She had been aware her friend had only loved two women with all his heart. Talia Al Ghul and Selina Kyle. Both were capable, sly, smart, dangerous, deceitful, antagonistic and beautiful. Both had helped him against dangerous organizations they were part of. They had also both deceived him on other occasions. Diana didn't understand how Bruce ended up with somewhat untrustworthy people or whether he liked falling for villains.

Before Bruce's death, Kal had been capable, smart, dangerous and beautiful. Now, ironically, Bruce had a rather antagonistic relationship with him. 

Maybe Bruce hadn't started in love with Kal. Maybe he had fallen in love with him because of the mix of hate and love. As she glanced at him, she tried to dislodge the thought. Maybe Bruce did just lose his friend without gaining a lover. Maybe Bruce had never loved Kal like that. Maybe it was his wrath and curiosity that had pushed him to act that way with Kal. 

It was hard to tell. 

***

(a few hours later)

"Lois... We have to talk."

She hummed away, "Yes, Clark. Have you finally finished your 'secret' mission?"

He nodded and walked closer. 

"How is Bruce, now?" she asked.

He stopped. "How do you know about him?"

"Alfred told me. Alfred knew you stole his body and he thought you were going to use the Lazarus Pits. Why? Didn't you know the Waynes would put strict surveillance around the family members' caskets because of Jason?"

Clark was silent a moment, "Did he tell the rest of the family?"

"No. Only me. He wanted you to resurrect Bruce. He waited until I could not stop you before he told me. He also hid all the traces of you taking Bruce's body away."

"That's... thoughtful," Clark admitted. It didn't make it easier to tell her he was cheating on her with his dead friend. 

"Sure is. Are you breaking up with me?"

"Uh?"

She glared daggers at him, "You didn't think I knew you were in love with him after the way you reacted to his death? You didn't think I would put it together that you and he were alone in the Fortress, but you refused my coming over once in a while? Then, you went on a month and a half silence? It wasn't that hard to get the picture. We were drifting apart since his death. I'm still a top reporter."

Clark hugged her, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't deserve you. I really don't. I cheated on you."

"That's not okay," she said as she patted his back. 

After a moment, she continued, "What are you going to do now?"

"Get a divorce with you. Figure out Jon's place in all this. Let Bruce find his place in life. Then, I'll go after him."

"It will be hard," she noted as she holds on to her soon to be ex-husband.

"I'm sorry, Lois. I didn't want to hurt you."

"I had time to see it coming. It's... not easy, but we'll make it."

"I'm sorry, Lois. It seems I can only betray everyone's trust in me."

"Shush. It'll be okay. Jon has almost finished school. He'll be excited to see you."

"I missed him and you so much."

"I know. I missed you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce and his bests friends. Do they know each other too well? Or not enough?
> 
> Last chapter was the plot reveal, this was 'feelings' reveal (on Kal's part). Oh, and this chapter kind of explains why, in the chapter For Whom the Bell Tolls, Bruce is acting so out of character. He was actually remembering the feeling of having no burden he felt at his death.
> 
> I can't believe this chapter was about 4,000 words long.
> 
> Seriously, I set out to write this work as a short story for fun and this work is getting so long it takes forever to end. I just couldn't cut the less important parts of this chapter... Especially not Diana's pondering of Bruce's type or Bruce's explanation of how easy it is to manipulate everyone or Lois's participation.
> 
> Well, I hope you still enjoyed it. Angsty and all. I need to study how to do fluff (although I don't normally enjoy it all that much).


	7. Rigor Mortis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year later, Bruce and Lois talk about the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution. A bit dub-consent, but mostly a disturbing sex flashback scene (not in a good way).

A year after Bruce left the Fortress... (present day)

He knows she is coming. He looks forward to it as a deer stuck on a railroad waits for the train headed his way, but he has resigned himself to it. It was his fault he got stuck in that situation. It's always his fault.

She knocks at the door and he breathes quietly before opening it to her. She doesn't smile nor sends him a greeting. He's not surprised at her behaviour. He erases himself from the doorway, something that had always come naturally to him, to let her strut in.

She studies critically the wood cabin and takes a seat on the sofa near the woodstove, uninvitedly.

"I see you have settled down," she declares somewhere between confrontational and polite. Bruce simply nods and crosses his arms over his chest.

She gauges him and tilts the head in the opposing chair, "Why don't you sit down? This may take a while and it is unpolite to stand when your guest is seating." He wants to bite back that she is not a guest of his. However, that is not the stance he should take with her, thus, he sits and waits for her to start.

Bruce is not surprised by Lois's lack of nervosity. She's bold enough to say what she wants and to mean what she says.

"Bruce," the name echoes in the cabin like an accusation festering the mood.

He does not answer.

"Bruce," this time it sounds more like a command than an accusation.

It is not his cue.

"Bruce, I've worked hard to come here and you owe me some explanations," she states, reasonably enough.

Still, Bruce only stares at her silently, waiting for a blueprint of the conversation.

Lois sighs, "Bruce, have you been in contact with him since you escaped the Fortress?"

That is not her business. It is nobody's except Clark's and Bruce's, so Bruce stands mute.

"You want to play hardball? Fine. Don't say I haven't tried otherwise." He knows she doesn't know how to confront him except with the hardball approach. Besides, she has to play her cards on the table in order to get something out of him.

She leans forward, "What game are you playing exactly?" She gestures around, "Don't you dare play dumb with me. I know you enough to hurt you if need be."

"What game are you playing, Lois?" he parrots back calmly.

She glares back at him, "You manipulated Clark: twisted him around your little finger and you almost destroyed him. You didn't even go back to Gotham, Mr. Kane. You didn't go back to being our beloved flying mammal."

"Sarcasm should be beneath you, Lois," he can't stop himself from saying with sarcasm.

"You want to refuse speaking to me?"

His eyes pierce her, "No. I'll answer some questions. If they are legitimate."

Lois takes her reporter's pose, although she doesn't get a recorder or a pen and paper out, "Okay. Let's start simple. Why did you take the name of Bruce Kane?"

"I couldn't be Bruce Wayne. He was dead for over a year and I was... changed. I also couldn't keep up his veneer any longer. I had to keep either Bruce or Wayne. Personally, I would have chosen to perpetuate my parents' last name, but my kids wanted to call me Bruce, even in public, hence the 'Bruce' name. My mother's maiden name was Kane. I took it. I'm now supposed to be one of my younger cousins, presumed interned at a mental health asylum for much of his life."

"Well," Lois wryly comments, "it will now be much easier to explain your strange and antisocial behaviour."

He doesn't rise to the bait. He has been called mad by a lot of people in his life, but, since his resurrection, it described quite accurately his mental process. He is acutely aware of his multiple failings.

"Why haven't you gone back to Gotham?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, "I wanted something different."

Her looks made it clear she did not believe it. There was no way he could tell her it was because his family, except Alfred, had grieved in a healthy way over him and moved on.

Jason was a surprisingly good Batman. Tim, Barbara and Stephanie assisted him when the need arose. Damian had gone to stay in Bludhaven with his oldest brother. Tim had moved back to the Manor and was acting as the CEO of the Wayne Enterprise. Stephanie had found a job in her area of predilection. Barbara was doing her own thing, like always.

They had been happy Bruce was alive.

In some way, it had been a sham.

Some days, Bruce's mind and body told him he was still dead. Most days, Bruce was not happy he was alive.

The others weren't sure how to take his attitude. Even Jason, who had been resurrected before, couldn't understand exactly what he was going through.

In one of his anxiety-filled moment, when he feared someone would do something to his mind and body against his will, Bruce had placed listening devices everywhere in the Manor, including in the Batcave. He could hear their many discussions about him. Regardless of the circumstances, Tim had not been pleased to find them, especially since the Manor had been 'his' and the Batcave had been 'Jason's' ever since Bruce's death, over a year ago. Tensions ran high and, one night, when his body wouldn't let him sleep, he overheard Tim and Jason wondering if they should give back their roles to Bruce on account that neither could stand his involvement in his prior life roles, especially with Alfred and Bruce constantly fighting one another.

It quickly became clear Bruce had to stay away from Gotham for a while. Alfred had always been his children's favourite and Bruce was not coping well at all with being alive again.

He didn't go too far away. Still, it was clear he needed to deal with his physical, emotional and mental frailty.

His meditation capacity was still recovering while his muscles were slowly building back to what they had been before his death.

Thankfully, Lois didn't linger on the subject of Gotham. 

"That is nice and all, but you know what I want to know." She was dropping all veiled pretenses.

Bruce examines her; nicely shaped legs, a well-adjusted dress boosting her assets without seeming vain, strong arms for such a small lady, her deceptively delicate hands, her determined eyes burning through her oval-shaped face while her dark hair was carefully placed on her head without looking overdone. Lois had always been beautiful. Not pretty. Not vain. Not frail. Just beautiful. Mostly by her sheer force of will alighting her soul than any superficial artifice she had used.

Clark had chosen her for good reasons. 

She was a force to reckon with, even if you had Kryptonian strength. How often had he seen Clark fear his wife's fury or judgment?

Bruce could see the effects of the passage of time on her body. She is still in good physical shape, but the damages of her high-intensity job and her multiple worry-inducing family members were evident for those looking for them. She may not have been a superhero, nonetheless, she got herself tangled in dangerous conspiracies much too often to Clark's liking. There was a scar on her left elbow and one on her right knee. She had a third-degree burn on her feet and knife wounds on her torso. It was nothing like Bruce's own panoply of scars and injuries, still, for a civilian, it was impressive history.

Lois accepted Clark's idiosyncrasies and dived into his world with fierce loyalty, courage and resources that were pearls in a business that often got experienced superhero dead. She was a keeper.

But Clark hadn't kept her precious love.

That was why she had come to confront Bruce. They both know it. They would both deny it.

"What do you want?" Bruce enunciates, even if they both know the name of the game.

The dangerous glint in her eyes may have scared witless her usual business preys; unfortunately, on a man like Bruce, it has no effect, "Are you in love with him?"

That's the Lois I remember, he thinks distantly, she goes straight for the throat when she bites. Bruce taps his finger on his armchair but otherwise stays silent.

"That's the gist of it, isn't it?" Lois whispers with some anger, "Everyone asks you that question and you stand mute."

"You think it is a good tactic against me? The others, they think you need more time. They think you will eventually answer. I know you too much for those assumptions, don't I?"

Her intensity is pouring all out, "Diana is the Goddess of Truth, yet she can't say for sure what you are thinking. J'onn refuses to say anything about your mental health because of client privilege. Alfred doesn't care as long as you are alive and mostly sane. Your children aren't sure what happened between you and Clark and aren't sure they want to know."

She stills, "But, I'm not them. I don't need to find the perfect phrasing or only say what I sure happen. I can guess because you did me wrong. I can hurt you to know the truth. The others don't want to."

Lois abruptly stands up and walks to Bruce's side, "It's not the cheating I reproach you: Clark did that on his own. No. You are unclear about your intentions. You messed him up real bad, didn't you?"

Bruce does not close his eyes. She had no idea how much Bruce had messed him up. His mind unhelpfully springs up one prime example of it.

"Get naked and lay down on the bed, Clark. I'll give you what you want," that was all Bruce had needed to say for Clark to obey him.

"Close your eyes and listen to me, Clark," Bruce had murmured. Kal had done so.

Bruce took his time examining Clark's body.

He knows how to savour beauty in the human body, but that wasn't what he was doing.

He hates Clark.

Clark, whose superhuman body would permit him to save people until his death while Bruce's was creaking to retirement before his death. Bruce knew he wanted to keep doing it until his death as it was his life's mission. Clark who saw his smooth, almost ageless body, as a curse and not as the blessing Bruce knew it was.

When their friendship had begun, Bruce was aware of his nastier more envious and jealous side of himself. With self-control, those useless feelings had receded into background noise.

It was not Clark's power he was envious of. It was the possibility of doing what he wanted to do all his life. When Bruce had died, his wish had been realized.

And Clark had wasted it all by resurrecting him in a weak body and mind.

Bruce's mind had been his most valuable asset in his war. Clark had dulled it with his unwarranted 'kindness'.

That was what Bruce had thought of while glaring at Clark lying across the bed at his mercy.

Thus, Bruce had shown none.

"Clark," he uses his gentler tone, "think of someone pleasantly caressing your body, skimming across your lips to descend slowly to your navel. I'll make you feel as if the one in this world who can take care of you is taking care of you." Clark hums. Of course, his power of visualization is extraordinaire especially with his eidetic memory. Which is what Bruce is counting on.

"Now, use your hands on yourself as I instruct." Clark puts his hands on his stomach.

"Circle your navel with a finger." Clark does so.

"Now, slowly lower your hands to your hips. Take the time to memorize your indentation demarked by your bones." Bruce lets Clark's hands wonder on his hips for a full minute before he continues his instructions.

"Use your left hand to explore your testicles, while your other hand simply map your cock."

Clark's hands continue their torturous job of gliding around the pleasure points on his body. Bruce feels his gaze sharpening at the wanton display of sexual desire his friend is slowly arousing. He darts his tongue across his own lips. Good. Things were shaping up perfectly.

"Clark," Bruce whispers sensually, "take yourself fully in both hands and put just enough pressure on yourself to avoid hurting." The still clothed man knows his friend uses more strength than anyone on Earth could.

"Fist yourself. I won't talk for a while I slowly get naked. Don't stop." If arousal was a scent thing, Bruce was sure he could have felt the shift in the mood at that exact moment. Imagining Bruce getting naked to Clark's masturbation sounds seemed to have encouraged a small moan from the naked Kryptonian.

Bruce slowly undresses and prepares himself before placing himself above Clark's fisting action. "Clark, remove your hands." The Kryptonian removes them in a hurry. Bruce slowly impales himself on his friend's cock, feeling it fill the void he feels since his resurrection; the wrath that sucks all energy and barely leaves him capable of rational thoughts.

The Kryptonian's perfect body will serve as Bruce's tool for his glorious revenge.

"Clark," Bruce sounds a bit winded, "put your hands on my hips."

There is a pause, "Are you okay, Bruce? I don't want to hurt you."

"I'm fine." I'll hurt you so much before the end of my stay here, Bruce thinks with satisfaction.

Clark slowly snakes his hands on his hips, caressing the damaged skin tenderly. He thinks I am playing nice, Bruce realizes with a jot. That's even better.

"Now, slowly lift me up and down on your shaft. Do it slowly."

Clark, always obedient to him, except when it matters, does it, eyes still closed.

Bruce licks his lips in anticipation, as his friend slowly concentrates only on the sensation of fucking him.

Bruce grows completely stiff in Clark's grip. If it was not Superman holding him up, Bruce would have toppled over.

"Wha...?"

Bruce continues, "Now, can you remember what I looked like after you killed me?"

"Bruce?" Clark's small terrorized voice calls out, uncertain.

"Don't stop. Remember how I looked as I laid dead in the wake of your loss of control. The stiffness of my body. The blood." Bruce's body had been mimicking the hardness of a corpse.

"I'm dead and you are making love with my remains," Bruce continues in a calm manner as if he was introducing his friend to an important investor, not talking about his own death.

"Even better. I'm the corpse you stole from my house. Maggots have eaten part of me and you can only make sure I am me because of my skeleton. The hips you feel under your hands are the only proof you are fucking my corpse and no one else's."

Clark's hands still move him up and down on his cock, yet it is evident by the grimace overtaken his face and the wariness in his body he does not enjoy Bruce's game.

"And your cock is still eager," which is merely an observation.

Bruce's voice drops to a whisper, "You know that is your future. You masturbating alone in your Fortress and fucking the corpses of those you have cared for because your power ensures you will live much longer than anyone else. One day, you will isolate yourself from the rest of the world. Haven't you abandoned this world so many times it is almost a joke? And corpses will be your only emotional link to the past. How many times will you fuck my corpse and think of the times I was alive? How many times will you take your wife's and whisper to her the words you told her when she was still alive? Sweet 'I love you' even after death? The perfect romantic love that surpasses death and corpses."

"Bruce," a strangled sound comes from Clark's throat.

"You will have to be careful when you fuck our corpses. Because it will be harder to use them if they are split in the middle. Because nobody can use the force you want on you. That's why you keep masturbating in between the corpses you take. You love to have sex with the dead ones. At least, you can't hurt them anymore. You can't normally kill them more than once."

Bruce lets the sound of skin on skin fill the room as he savours the way Clark's shakes under him. That was a pretty good execution, he congratulates himself.

"Why do you do that, Bruce?" Clark silently asked.

Bruce remains stiff in his grip. Torturing Clark is such a pleasure. You simply pit all his fears against him. Or you used Kal against Clark and Clark against Kal. He always loses.

If only Bruce could completely switch off the sound of his heart and lungs, his dead man illusion could hold under Clark's heightened scrutiny.

"Bruce," he hears the other man whimper.

Temper your cruelty with kindness, Bruce thinks, it hurts like salt on wounds and Clark has a lot of wounds.

"Open your eyes, Clark."

If Clark's relieved face and the compulsive stronger grip on Bruce are any indications, Bruce has made his point heard.

Clark sits up, drawing his friend close to him and pushing Bruce on his back while he looms above, larger than the wrath Bruce feels. For the longest time, Clark simply gazes down on his friend, agonized.

Finally, he caresses Bruce's jaw carefully, "I hurt you, didn't I? You weren't ready."

The businessman wants to scoff at him. Bruce doesn't care about the sensation of chafing his lower back is feeling. Since his resurrection, he likes it when it hurts. Because his body feels more aligned with his mind in those moments and less like his mind is an abnormality in its own crooked world.

"I won't let you use me to hurt yourself, Bruce," Clark.

Time to give Clark a treat, Bruce thinks as he kisses Clark, almost suffocating in the desperate passion and hardness the other respond with. When they break apart, Bruce whispers, "You really do get off fucking a dead man. Maybe you should have killed someone earlier, just to take care of that kink."

Clark gives a small thrusting movement with his hips, driving a gasp out of Bruce. The Kryptonian takes hold of Bruce's hands and holds them above Bruce, "Shush. No more hurtful things from you. I just want to hear you sing your pleasure."

Before Bruce can say anything else, Clark retracts and drives in slowly, grazing the prostate along the way. Bruce feels himself squirming under the alien's too precise touch, uneasy with the sudden loss of control.

A few moments later, Clark tells him, "Do that sound again. It's..." Bruce doesn't know he even made a sound. His mind grows even more chaotic as his body gets submerged in pleasure.

Bruce thinks his self-control is really worn out as Clark slowly give him pleasure, his attention all focused on that objective. The pinned man arches up to get more and he feels hands rousting his other pleasure points. Bruce may be an expert in torturing Clark; Kal is an expert in giving pleasure to Bruce, even against his own will.

He senses the Kryptonian fold into Bruce's senses, like a napkin on itself. As Bruce gets pushed over the edge of an orgasm, he hears the other say, "Don't worry, Bruce, I won't make love to your corpse. I won't let you die ever again, Bruce. I won't let you get hurt again."

The solemnity of the promise makes Bruce almost burst out laughing.

He won. 

Clark is just as insane as himself.

As Bruce blinks out of his memories, he remembers the disgust he felt with himself, the day he had called Diana to fetch him, that morning he woke up beside Clark and realized what he had done.

Lois probably didn't know how right she was of accusing him of messing Clark up.

She was still staring at him, still waiting for his answer from across the chasm of his memory.

"What did he tell you, that day Diana went to pick you?" she finally asks her voice ringing clearly in the quiet cabin.

Bruce shakes his head, "It does not matter."

"It doesn't?" Lois dares him, a threat clear in her tone, "Because that's not what he told me. He told me he can't be with me, especially not after he told you 'those' things. Don't you think I deserve to hear it?"

He doesn't answer her.

"If you don't love him, don't you want him to be with me?" Lois asks, sitting deceivingly leisurely at his right.

"Lois," he answers a bit sharply.

"I can't fix what I don't understand. Help me know what is wrong," Lois's eyes gleam with intent. She senses his hesitation and adds, "You know I want to fix our relationship. Can't you just tell me what he told you?"

Bruce wants to shatter into pieces and leave this unperfect version of himself behind with these impossible choices.

Unfortunately, he has no choice.

He can't deny Lois. Not after what he did to Clark's sanity.

He exhales and recites the first thing Kal told him the day Diana came.

**"I thought I was happy before you died on me. Now that I have tasted the total disarray of losing you and the felicity of recovering you, I understand your presence moves the very core of my soul."***

Bruce could remember his own difficult answer," Clark, stop this grotesque play. You don't love me in that way. I manipulated you to believe you were."

Then, Clark had continued with his words and Bruce is repeating them like in a trance, **"I look at you and I would like to describe your appearance to explain why I love you so. But what purpose would it serve to do so if the fact of describing your tumultuous eyes cannot illustrate with precision the depth of your charm?

I enjoy your presence by my side and I would like to describe your brilliant personality, but what would be the use if the description of the attractiveness of your legendary perseverance does not honour you?

I revel in our conversations and I wish I could adequately describe your intelligence but what would be the use if the description of your sagacity cannot give adequate tribute to you?

I am touched by your love and soul and I will like to lead a chorus of praise, but what purpose would it serve if the description of your fervent devotion cannot compete with reality?"**

For the longest time, Bruce could only sit there, trying to forget how he felt when Clark was proclaiming those awful words. He had almost forgotten Lois's presence in the cabin when he heard her stir, her eyes still observing him. With a jolt, he continues.

**"My soul elevates towards you like waves. I simply pray you will not break it, in vain, like the shore of your indifference could surely do.

Henceforth, if my heart is too heavy a burden, I beg you, nonetheless, to leave the door of your heart ajar to stop mine from drying out a second time, without the radiance of your love.

I have long travelled and learned new languages. However, none of them have the words to describe the depth of my love for you."**

Lastly, Bruce had to recite the last words Clark had whispered so intently to him, **"Home is where the heart lives. You are my heart, wherever you live. You are always welcome in mine."**

Bruce didn't know how long he had been sitting silently when Lois questions him, "That was what he said?"

He only nods, too drained to say another word.

"You still want to protect him, don't you?"

He nods again, looking at the dying fire in his woodstove.

"I understand," Lois continues, "You still love him."

He opens his mouth and closes it under her glaring eyes.

"That's why you recited his declaration of love in Kryptonian. Because you couldn't tell me how much he loves you since you believe we could go back together. That won't happen."

He swallows, "Why not? You were happy together."

It is her time to look forlorn and old, "We were. But things changed. He changed. So did I."

For a moment, Bruce is silent. He then asks, "Why did you come, then?"

"For closure. For me, for him and for you. You are ignoring him. That's your choice. I recommend you at least reacquaint yourself with one another. Don't you think a meeting is long overdue?"

Bruce does not want to meet Clark. His parents' Manor had fewer ghosts than the ones between his former best friend and himself. 

"I'm sorry I made you believe there was a chance of reconciliation between Clark and me. I knew you wouldn't have told me what he had told you otherwise. I knew you were the only one foolish enough to want to believe in us. Not even Jon believes in it any longer."

Bruce might have felt anger at being played if his heart wasn't still numb from remembering Clark's love declaration. As it was, he simply didn't care. 

Lois touches his elbow hesitatingly, "You once told me, contrary to popular opinion, you do not sleep with people you do not have deep feelings for. Whether or not you want to face them, it is clear you have feelings that are clearly disturbing you. I suggest you confront them."

He almost wants to hate her: that magnificent woman he had previously dated and had revealed too much of himself. He had been younger and more vocal with his thoughts and emotions. He had listened to people's advice about not bottling his feelings. He had been a real fool.

Everyone had always used his avowed emotions against him, even Lois. 

There is only so much hate and betrayal Bruce can feel at once and Clark and Alfred are the recipients of all of it, even now, more than a year and a half since his resurrection. 

He has no energy to expand on her. 

The silence grows awkward with his lack of response. Lois's physical contact is uncomfortable for both of them. 

Betrayal, shame and pain always make it uncomfortable for everyone. 

Finally, Bruce simply states, "It is time for you to go."

Instantly, she lets him go, stands up and asks, "Are you going to, at least, see him once?"

Bruce sees no reason to answer her and he does not. After a minute, it dawns on her that is his response. She frowns, but walks to the door, open it and steps outside. 

The door closes. 

Bruce presses his hands on his forehead. 

This headache of living never goes away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the text between "**" are poor quality translation of Kryptonian or Kryptonese, depending on the person. It surely sounded better in Kryptonian, but there are still no elaborated techniques to translate all of its nuances in English. It may well come to be, one day.


	8. The Tempo of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark finally meets Bruce since their confrontation in the Fortress of Solitude. Nothing between them is quite simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution. Lots and lots of flashbacks. The use of the present tense means it is not a flashback!  
> Sorry if this is a confusing. If you have questions or remarks on this chapter, do not hesitate to contact me via the comment section.

Clark looks at the blank computer screen. He can't think of anything to write for his next novel.

"Dad?" Jon asks from the kitchen.

"Yes, Jon?" he answers distractedly.

"Can we go see a game tonight? I'm bored."

Clark would normally like to go, yet, he knows he can't tonight. Bruce is finally making a move. His heart lurches at that thought. Will he say yes or reject Clark again? 

"Dad?" Jon insists, popping his head in the doorway.

***

Clark had cried when he first received the small baby in his arms. It seemed so frail, he was sure he would have broken him apart. 

"Jonathan," Lois told him, "really is a perfect name for that sweet little angel."

Clark smiled through his tears, "Thanks, Lois for giving me such a perfect baby."

Lois smiled weakly at him, "What are you talking about? It takes two to make babies."

"Thank you," Clark muttered, overwhelmed by how much this little baby meant to him. His son. He had a son even if he was the last descendant of an alien species. He had thought he would be the last of his lineage. He wasn't.

*** 

Clark smiles at his son, another casualty of his divorcing Lois, "I'm sorry, Jon, I can't tonight. Do you want to go with Kathy?"

Jon pouts, "Dad, I'm old enough to know you are trying to set me up with her."

Clark grins back, "Why would I do that? Does that mean you are interested?"

"Daaad!" 

***

"Daaad!" a three-year-old Jonathan had cried after he had skinned his knee running around. 

"It's going to be alright," Clark had reassured him with a little kiss to the forehead, "I'll clean it up and kiss it and the owie will go away."

"Really?" his son asked with hopeful eyes while tears continued running down his face.

"Really. The hurt will fly away," Clark securely took his kid in his arms and he felt Jon holding on to him as if for dear life, "Like you fly?"

"Like I fly," the reporter had answered with a fond smile.

***

Clark tousles up his son's hair, "Don't worry, I'm only making fun of the fact you are now a grumpy teenager."

 

Jon snorts, "Damian is grumpy. I'm only a 'normal' teenager."

Clark nods wisely, "And normal teenagers are grumpy, that's a fact of life."

***  
"You cheated on mom!" 

There was not much Clark could say to that. He could absorb his kid's angry tirade. 

"You told me about honesty and integrity and you ran out and cheated on mom!"

Clark and Jon both had tears running on their cheeks.

"I know," Clark dumbly answered, "I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I hurt her."

"I hate you."

They had both ended up shaking and crying in each other's arms on the apartment's floor. It had gone much better than Clark thought it would. His son would still keep a relationship with Clark; all of his apprehension of disappearing from his son's life melted away.

***

Jon glares back, "Now, you are playing hard and fast with the facts. I'll tell mom on you."

The older man puts on a horror-filled face, "Please don't. She'll tell me that even though I am retired from the 'noble profession' of journalism, I have responsibilities that should never waver."

Jon smirks, "It serves you right!" 

Clark pretends to try to hug his teenager son and his son avoids the attack, "Daaaad! I'm too old for that!"

"You're never too old for hugs!" Clark answers with utter conviction.

Jon's cell phone pings and he looks at it, "Damian is requesting my help for a raid he was planning on doing on his own." He looks puzzled and Clark could see why. Jon had been complaining for days about the fact Damian had been refusing his help for anything in Bludhaven, even going as far as chasing him away when he came to town without Damian's express authorization.

Clark wants to sigh; he knows how underhanded Bruce can be and, of course, the man would take care of possible 'obstacles' before coming to meet Clark in person. Of course.

"Well? Are you going? I thought you were bored?" Clark prods his still confused teenager.

"..Yeah. See you later, dad." With that, Jon rushes out to change into his Superboy's outfit and off he flies.

How long is Bruce going to wait?, Clark thinks as he continues facing his blank computer screen. His heartbeat is not even near Clark's house. 

"Don't you think Joseph Thomas is a tacky name?" a voice simply asks behind himself. Well, Clark thinks dryly, Bruce did use misdirection techniques before. He can't even hear his heartbeat this close to him.

It's been a while since Bruce has spoken directly to him like this and Clark does want to enjoy it. Still, his heart tugs and his hands feel sweaty.

Clark swirls on his chair to face his former best friend, "You finally decide to see me and the first thing you do is complain about my alias for writing novels?"

Bruce does not even glance in his direction as his hands skim on the spines of books in Clark's workroom. "It is tacky," Bruce insists, dressed in an expansive long-sleeved shirt and costly jeans.

Clark crosses his arms, trying to hide his fingers shaking with fear and anticipation, deciding to let Bruce control the conversation for now, "I find it is a good alias."

"You would," Bruce grumbles out, still carefully cataloguing Clark's library content. 

There is a silence, but contrary to Clark's fears, it is a comfortable one. 

Until Bruce speaks in a too matter-factory manner to be true.

"Since when are you interested in bipolar disorder?" 

Clark gulps. Bruce being Bruce means he will, of course, choose one of the only conversation subject Clark does not presently want to engage with him. It's also a subject Clark has not rehearsed times and again for his next confrontation.

"One of my characters is bipolar. I had to research it," the former reporter answers in a convincingly way.

"Is that so..." Bruce continues his search in silence for a minute.

"In which novel?" he erupts Clark's satisfied thoughts of having escaped the difficult subject.

"My new one?"

"You mean, the one you haven't started writing about or your last one?"

The issue with Bruce being in control of the conversation is that he knew how to corner you in your lies. Every time. If Clark told him it was the new one, Bruce would start asking about the character development of said character, as he had often done with Clark in the Fortress of Solitude. If Clark told it was the last one, Bruce would question about the details, saying he was pretty sure none of the characters was bipolar.

At one point, the former reporter breathes out, you simply have to admit the truth.

"My theory is that you have bipolar disorder," Clark finally admits.

Bruce stills and slightly tilts his head in Clark's direction to show he is listening. The Kryptonian wets his lips, "You probably discovered you had it when you were travelling abroad for eight years in unfamiliar territory. I think you got it treated back then. But, I must admit, you are truly brilliant," Clark lowers his head in Bruce's direction to show respect. 

"You hid your manic episodes in your Bruce Wayne's public performances and Batman's wilder and more violent nights. With my memory, I can see the patterns. You hid your depressive episodes by your usual lack of communicating and by isolating yourself from others even more than usual."

Through it all, Bruce is still patiently waiting for the full explanation. 

Until now, it was all speculations, yet, the next part was the worst. 

"Unfortunately, you never told anyone you were diagnosed with bipolar disorder and that you were taking pills to treat it. I still have no idea how you could successfully hide it from Alfred. When I... used the Pits on you, it exacerbated your condition, especially with the lack of treatment. If Alfred had known it for sure, he would have gotten in contact with me."

Clark pauses, concentrating his senses on his former lover's reaction. There was nothing different. Such was the issue with dealing with Bruce.

"You were so angry with me you didn't want to tell me. Or you were ashamed of suffering mental health disorder because you weren't strong enough. Either way, after years of rigid self-control, you indulged in the high your bipolar disorder offered you. Emotions you had been so used to regulating were so much more intense. So powerful. The Lazarus Pits' effect certainly didn't help, but they weren't the only issues, right?" 

Bruce had the exact same pose as when Clark had started. 

There were not only the manic episodes to consider, there was also the depressive episodes that drained Bruce's strength and will to live away.

While reading, Clark had noticed Bruce had most of the symptoms of the manic and depressive episodes: the mood swings with a diverse level of energy, the wired feeling, increased or decreased energy level, difficulty sleeping, irritability, doing risky things, feeling worried and empty, eating too little, feeling tired, thinking about death or suicide and feeling like they can't enjoy anything. 

The biggest issue with that analysis is that you couldn't be Bruce was simply unhealthy in a bipolar disorder way or in another way. 

Clark was not a doctor and could not diagnose the other man. It was one of the reasons he didn't want to start this conversation with Bruce. 

Yet, it was one point on which Clark felt even guiltier. He should have noticed Bruce needed medication during his recovery from the dead and they might have made the transition easier. 

"Is that all?" Bruce's voice asks nonchalantly as he continues to browse the books, his back still exposed to Clark. 

Clark swallows, "Aren't you denying it?"

The other man shook his head, "It does not matter."

Clark fumes as he ponders how to respond to Bruce's lack of interest in the subject, "It does matter. I worry about you all the time. You don't take care of yourself."

"You monitor me," Bruce reminds him, still feigning disinterest. 

The writer wants to deny it, unfortunately, lying to Bruce rarely helps. 

**"Kal-El, open your eyes."** 

Clark recalls this soft memory to temper Bruce's present show of indifference. 

**"Look at me, Kal, I want to see your breathtaking eyes. I have a theory the bright sky you see when you fly gets reflected in them."** Bruce had whispered as he had gently caressed his cheeks,**"It might hurt a bit since it is your first time with a man, but you will also feel pleasure. Sometimes, it is hard to keep them separate,"** 

Clark had been fidgety, uncertain whether he wanted to stop or edge Bruce forward,**"Did I hurt you... when I...?"**

Bruce had smiled at him, **"A bit, but then, the pleasure drowned it."** He noticed Clark's guilty frown, **"Don't worry, Kal, as a human, there is not much pleasure that is not mixed with some measure of pain. You, on the other hand, might not feel the pain, because of your almost invulnerable body."** 

Bruce had subsequently kissed him and Kal had felt no physical pain.

Bruce had still told him: sometimes, you felt pleasure. Sometimes, you felt pain. Sometimes, they were intertwined so much together you couldn't pry them from one another. 

Pleasure and pain were sometimes that intricately linked, especially for Bruce.

Clark sighs, "Yes, I do monitor you. I love you."

Bruce's back tenses at his last sentence, "You should let that illusion go. You will only hurt yourself."

"No, I won't. I won't force you to stay, but you can't force me to let you go."

Bruce finally turns around, frowning, "You should." 

"I doubt you can't talk me out of loving you, Bruce. Emotions don't work like that."

Bruce clenches his fist, "They should."

Clark stands up, walking one step closer to his former best friend, "They aren't like that. Deal with it."

Bruce scowls at him,"Why have you returned to being Superman full time?" he asks, changing again the subject. 

That was another weakness in Clark's armour, "Because I should."

Bruce scowl's only deepened at that statement. It reminds Clark of another conversation they had had a long time ago.

***

"Why don't you trust me, Bruce? I have been Superman a long time now, still, you are wary of me! Nothing I did warrant it! I'm frankly sick of your paranoid attitude!"

Batman had scoffed at him, "I don't trust you because you should not be Superman."

Clark had been hurt and betrayed by that raw statement, something Batman had never told him before, "Why are you still saying things like this? How many times did I save your life?"

Batman had shrugged, "That does not matter. You should not be Superman, because you don't want to be Superman, not because you are inefficient at that job."

This was the most backhanded compliment Clark had ever received in his life, "What are you talking about?"

Batman had paced on the floor, obviously trying to find the words, "You should not be Superman since you only do it because you have powers."

Kal's anger had conflagrated, "So, I should leave saving the world to people like you, without powers? That doesn't make any sense!"

Batman had glared at him, "No. You should leave it to people who have a mission and a goal except trying to be a good guy. You don't become and stay a superhero just to be a good guy. You should also try to make a selfish goal come true."

"Like you?" Kal had answered with sarcasm. 

Batman had replied without sarcasm, "Like me. Like Diana. Like Barry. Like Hal. Like J'onn. Like Arthur. Like everybody in the League except you."

That hurt. Kal had always been isolated and Bruce wanted him out of the League too? "That's a nice new item you selected to get me booted out of the League. You are a real jerk, aren't you?"

Batman had grimaced at that, "I won't boot you out of the League and you know it. I would be outvoted anyway. I'm simply trying to help you."

"It's so helpful you are are insulting me. Please do it again," Kal answered spitefully.

"Stop acting like a child and listen to what I am saying, not to your stupid pride!"

"And, pray tell me, what should I understand from this conversation? That you still hate me and want me out of here?"

"No!" Batman had yelled, "It means you should reevaluate your choices! You like being Clark Kent! You like being Kal El! You like flying! You like helping people! But you hate being Superman! So stop being him! That's what I am saying!"

Clark was confused by his outburst, "So, I should stop being Superman because I apparently hate it? I don't hate it."

Batman gestured angrily at him, "You do! In the beginning, you liked the adventures and the adrenaline. Now, you are staying because you made friends here and you don't want to disappoint them."

Clark had crossed his arms over his chest, "Isn't that the case for all of them?"

"No, it is not. Diana and Arthur are on a mission to better the position of their respective people in this world that is more and more interconnected. Hal wants to pursue his father's mission and he likes the order of his job, while still rebelling against it. Barry has always had a fascination with crime scenes because of his parents. He wants to get his father out of jail and get all innocent out of the criminal system. He also wants villains to make the world a better world. J'onn is on a mission of transporting his planet's culture here. He wants peace here and his penance is helping us gain wisdom to avoid another genocide. Do I even have to talk about my mission and goal?"

Kal shook his head, "No need. I see this is another tactic to drive me away."

"You stubborn fool! How many good people do you think get involved in this business for the wrong motivations and get burned as a result?"

"Haven't I survive all these years? I am fine."

"You're not. You'll get stretched thin by doing all those things you hate and you'll snap. I've seen it happen before. The only reason you managed to survive this long in this business is that you are almost invulnerable. But, one day, they will target your heart and you will end up choosing questionable paths. You will no longer be the good guy trying to help. You will become a monster. That's why I'm saying you should stop being Superman before it is too late," Batman explained with a vehemence Kal had never heard before. 

"Oh, so, apparently, you know me better than I know myself," Clark had answered crossly, "You even know all the things I hate."

Bruce had glared at him, "I know you like being Clark Kent, but you dislike living in Metropolis. I know you like writing, but you dislike working as a journalist. I know you like helping others, but you hate being Superman, the one shouldering all the world's burden. You have the perfect opportunity to change." With that, the vigilante left the conference room in the Watchtower.

Clark had hated Batman's speech, partly because he felt the prickling of truth in it. If anything, it reinforced Clark's mind to keep being a reporter in Metropolis and to save more people. That would show Batman how wrong he was in his ideas.

And he had, hadn't he? He had known Batman had respected him and he had worked harder than ever to be recognized as a superhero and as a proud Metropolis reporter. 

He even became friends with Batman and Bruce. 

Bruce even grew to trust him. Clark felt Batman still had the same opinion about his adventures as Superman. At least, Batman had never engaged in another conversation on that subject ever since, before now. 

***

Now that Clark had shown how right Batman had been. 

That he disliked living in Metropolis City. That he disliked working with the Daily Planet. That he went haywire at Batman's death because Batman had subconsciously become his reason for remaining a superhero. 

"I should stay as Superman," Clark insists in Bruce's impassive face in his workroom. 

"Why?" Bruce attacks. 

Clark opens his mouth and closes it, he had no idea what to say to him. 

"You really want Jon to think he has to become a superhero because he has powers? He shouldn't have to do it," Bruce responds, with a hint of gentleness. Kids were always his weakness. 

"Don't be a hypocrite, Bruce," Kal answers, "Or I'll ask you whether it is a coincidence all the children you adopted are fighting crime when they should be attending therapy."

There was an uncomfortable feeling as Kal was now heading into dangerous territory, "At least, I'm not pretending I'm fine with the League members when I'm not," Bruce replies. 

"As if you haven't done that before," Clark smirks at his former friend and lover, "I can remember a few times you almost bleed to death before you actually admitted you needed medical help." 

"I don't know how you managed to fool them," Bruce continues as if Clark hadn't interrupted, "but you haven't fooled Lois. Your lovely and loyal wife!"

That was always a wet blanket Bruce liked to throw over Clark's desire. He didn't answer.

***

"Yes!" 

The pure joy burning in Lois's eyes made Clark fill with so much relief and satisfaction, he thought he had died and had been sent to heaven. 

She wanted to be his wife!

Lois was so beautiful and strong in all ways, Clark never thought he really had a chance with her. It had taken him years to convince her of going on a date. 

They had navigated their romantic relationship with their dangerous work for years. It was time to settle things. You never knew if you would ever get the chance to raise a family if you waited too long as a superhero. 

She was officially his family.

***

"You already know all about it since you overhear everything I say to anyone. Don't even try to deny it," Bruce proceeds to explain his face near Clark's in physical estimation, but his mind whirling quicker than Clark's. 

"Lois came to visit me because she is still worried about you," Bruce pushes out with a glint of danger. 

"Don't use Lois against me," Clark almost growls out. 

Bruce leans back, against the bookshelf, "Isn't that the crux of this discussion? You going crazy and worrying your lovely woman?"

"I've already told you: I love you, Bruce. Why are you still trying to set me up with someone else?"

His friend simply tilts his head in a silent question. 

"We love one another. Why can't we be happy together?" Clark moves forward, almost touching Bruce again.

Bruce turns his head to the side, "With all that attention to every detail about me, have you ever tried to see the depth of your insanity? You don't even love me like that."

Clark clenches his fists on either side of Bruce's head while his head bows in his friend's direction, "Please, just tell me, what can I do to convince you I love you and it is not craziness talking?"

Bruce's eyes grow sorrowful while one hand touches Clark's chin to raise his head, "I don't think you can convince me, Clark. That's why I am here. I just want you to stop acting crazy. They'll start to see it too if you are not careful." 

Clark trembles under his friend's touch. It has been too long since they had been in actual contact. He yearns for more... just a kiss more... just some hand holding... Clark just wants a reciprocated action between them, not an act against which he cannot react without chasing Bruce away.

When you chased him away, it was hard to get him back... 

***

That night, sometime after Bruce used the 'dead man sex' technique against Clark, the Kryptonian had dreamt about nightmares of multiple version of the dead body of his friend lying around him, destroyed by his own hands. 

"You killed me," the corpses would mutter in unison, "You wanted to save me with light, instead you drown me in darkness."

"I didn't mean to..." Clark would stumble back.

"You wanted to play the Savior's role without taking its burden. I warned you... You are no superman."

"But, I wanted to help you. I wanted to take part of your burden away. Please, Bruce, I never wanted to kill you!"

"You wanted to have sex with me. That's why you killed me. Because you couldn't have me otherwise. You had to reduce my world to you and your Fortress. A true Stockholm syndrome," the disentangled corpses laughed creepily, "Well? What are you waiting for? I'm all yours... exactly like you wanted..."

"Bruce..."

"Until life does us part... I'll be yours," one grinning monster licked Clark's ear. The former reporter started crying, "Don't... Stop... Stop. I can't do this anymore!"

He had woken up, trashing the sheets, still imagining the dead Bruces hanging to him with their bony fingers. 

"Clark?" a sleepy Bruce had asked from beside him. 

Kal, still confused, had yelled at him, "You're horrible! You keep torturing me just because you can. I can't take it anymore. I don't care if you die. Just go. I don't want to ever see you again!" 

Bruce had sat up, blinked and confessed for the first time ever, "I love you."

There was tense silence before Kal answered, taking Bruce shoulders in his hands, bewildered, "Why would you tell me that when I tell you are horrible? That's your new game, uh? I won't play it any longer. I can't bear to even see your face."

"I told you that because it is true. My love is ugly and painful. I know I should never have fallen for you," Bruce had responded, still as a porcelain doll in Clark's too monstrous hands. 

"You're horrible. You only invite people to your family to break it apart again and again as your family was destroyed when you were eight! Do you know how insane you are?" Clark yelled. 

Bruce flinched at the words about his broken family but otherwise stood as a guilty man before his hangman, waiting the execution of the sentence he had been lawfully given. 

"You blame me for bringing back from the dead, however, you were happy when Jason was alive! You're a liar, a manipulator and... horrible. I can't remember how you could even be friends with me..."

Bruce only paled further in his grip, "I..."

"Shut up. You are a real demon, sucking all of my life force away. I don't know how you do it. I can't play this role anymore. Just go." The Bruce zombies still too fresh in Kal's mind.

Bruce's eyes simply accepted his fate as he would a new enemy.

Clark shoved him away with more force than he should, making him tumbled to the other end of the bed. 

Bruce simply drew to his feet and walked out of the room. Kal kneeled with his hands on his lowered face, his terror-inspired sweat still drenching him. It was only when he heard the Fortress open that he woke up from his terror-inspired trance. 

"Bruce?" he asked, confusedly at the now empty bed. 

He listened to his heartbeat. Bruce was outside. 

Kal flew, naked, to the door, opened it and saw a completely naked Bruce walking on the Arctic ice. 

There was tingle of ethereal feel to it as if the scene was simply a beautiful painting of quiet loneliness and solitude in the wild with the snow reflecting the moon's light upon the man's pale body.

Except Bruce was quietly walking to his death, quite literally, this time.

Suicidal.

That's what Kal immediately thought of.

He flew more desperately with Bruce's body into the Fortress and dumped in the medical unit, already piling clothes on him. 

He also heated Bruce's tea (Earl Grey, because it reminded him of Alfred) and sat in front of his friend and lover for a long time, simply staring at the alien creature that was Bruce. 

"What is wrong with you?" Kal finally asked, frustration and worry ringing clear in his tone. 

Bruce took a sip of tea and ignored him.

"I told you to go away and you tried to kill yourself? What is wrong with you?" Kal repeated, shaking, not from the cold, but from the idea he had been so close to losing Bruce again. 

"I was simply returning to where I should be. You should have let me return. It would have simplified everything," Bruce blandly answered.

It was hard for Kal not to touch the other man; he really wanted to crush Bruce in a hug. 

"You would have died just because I had asked you to go away?" Kal had mumbled away, hands over his head.

"I'm already dead, Kal," Bruce simply explained, "I shouldn't interfere in this world any longer. I should stop destroying families."

Clark thought back to his nightmarish version of Bruce and the one who had talked about sex with corpses. There was truth in Bruce's previous game; he still thought he was dead.

"Is that why you admitted you loved me? That was your suicide note?" Kal's saddened and angered voice muttered out.

Bruce stared at his tea, avoiding Kal's eyes.

Kal banged his hands on the table, "So, you think you can just say you love me, kill yourself and I will be okay with it? What is wrong with you?"

Bruce still avoided looking in his direction. 

"Or is this another mind games of yours? I really can't tell anymore."

Bruce closed his eyes. 

"I told you the truth," Bruce admitted awkwardly and shamefully.

"And you regret telling me you love me after playing me like an instrument all this time?"

The man burrowed in clothes lifted his head to look at him, "I don't regret telling you. It was my warning. You shouldn't be with me."

"Why not? Because you run outside naked?" Kal replied, truly at the end of his wits.

"What you said was true. I'm a horrible person," Bruce confessed, blinking tears away. 

Kal's frustration melted on the spot, "No, you're not. I am so sorry I ever told you that." He walked to Bruce's side and patted his lover's back.

"I'm horrible," Bruce repeated, eyes watery, face muscles grimacing in self-loathing, looking in that moment more eight years old than forty years old.

Kal slowly took the man with the many layers of clothes in his arm and he rocked him while carefully going back to a guest room this time. He laid Bruce under the sheets and caressed him to a fitful sleep. 

That was the first time he really thought Bruce might have a serious mental health issue he was hiding from Kal.

Kal had been so worried about that part, he hadn't really thought of the love confession.

Not, that is, until it was too late. 

***

Bruce is here, now, a year later, willingly coming to his meeting. Maybe it wasn't too late to convince him of his love. 

"Bruce, you could live here with Jon and me if you wanted. You'll be less alone and I'll take care of you," Clark proposes this more stable and more collected version of Bruce. 

"Don't make it harder for me, Clark," Bruce answers, still holding up his chin. 

"I love you," Clark repeats, "and death won't ever separate us again whether you like it or not."

Bruce lets his chin fall and went under one of Clark's arm encasing him on the bookshelf, "Let me go, for once, Clark and you'll be happy."

Clark had never been happy letting Bruce go.

***

The day after Bruce had run outside naked, Kal had tactfully avoided the subject of Bruce's mental health and Bruce had done everything to make him forget that episode.

They had even spent the entire day watching and rewatching Jean Renoir's Rules of the Game to analyze how each part fitted in the whole. "The dance macabre in the movie is simply one of the better metaphors I have ever seen in movies," Bruce had suggested, holding the Kryptonian's hand as they discussed the matter. Clark had been amazed at the depth of the characters in a love story, but after the night they had gone through, Bruce's fascination with the macabre was distressing, to say the least.

"Bruce," he whispered in the other man's neck, desperately searching for an anchor to keep Bruce alive, "Tell me you love me again."

The newly resurrected man caressed his back, "Kal," he answered plaintively, "Don't."

Kal had licked Bruce's neck from Adam's apple to the curving of the jaw, "Come on, Bruce. Just tell me you love me. I need to hear it."

"Don't play that game, Kal," Bruce had shivered at his delicate licking and clutched Kal's shirt.

Kal hadn't understood what his lover had meant, he simply gazed into Bruce's deliciously prey-looking eyes, "Bruce, tell me you love me."

Bruce tried to look away, but Kal had his chin in a death grip, "Stop, Kal." 

"Shush, Bruce, I am not asking much am I? You already admitted you loved me. You already made me imagine having sex with your corpse. You can tell me you love me again."

"Kal," the weak man pleaded, "Stop it. This was a mistake."

"It's not a mistake. I know your eyes were always looking at me. You were always noticing things nobody else, not even my mother, had ever noticed about me. I won't let you deny it again. You admitted you are in love with me. Don't try to take those words back," Kal watched Bruce's panicking within his grasp.

"You can never escape me. I won't let you die ever again. I will kill anyone who hurts you. Everything will be fine, I promise," the Kryptonian promised the man struggling to escape the words more than the touches. 

"Kal!" 

The Kryptonian stepped back to let Bruce calm down. The man held himself with his arms, "You are completely mad. You can't kill anyone. You have to let me die, next time."

Kal tousled his hair gently and the other flinched as if it was a threat, "You're mine. Even after death."

Bruce trembled under his ministration, "Don't do this, Kal... I don't want to live that long."

"I'm helping you, Bruce, confront your greatest fear: life. You have always been scared of living and happiness. You've always had that not-so-secret desire of dying. I'll help you beat it and you'll finally be happy. You should get happiness."

Bruce yelled in distress, "I want to stay dead! I can't watch you destroy yourself on this path!" 

Clark kissed chastely Bruce on the lips, "You'll get better and, then, you'll understand the choices I made when you weren't completely capable."

"Kal, you don't love me like that. Stop getting obsessed with an illusion," Bruce kissed him back less chastely on the lips.

Clark deepened the kiss, "I brought you back because I couldn't live without you. Stay with me and we'll be happy together here."

Bruce scrambled away, "Leave me alone!"

"Bruce, you wanted me all to yourself. Aren't you happy it came true?" Clark with a smile on his face asked the now empty Fortress room. 

***

In Clark's working room, Bruce had tried to slip away and Clark caught his arm, "You are not going away until we finish this discussion, Bruce."

The man turns around, fury in his eyes, "Let me go! You spy on me all the time. You pretend you are capable of being Superman, but we both know you are unstable and dangerous. You think you love me and, as such, you want me to live until your death. I can't do this! I can't let continue on this path!"

Clark kisses Bruce hard against the wall, sensing the man melting against him, "You love me." It was his best argument.

***

Bruce was leaning against the outside balcony, all darkness and mystery on this joyous occasion. 

"Bruce," he had called out, it almost seemed a sacrilege to disturb his peace.

His friend turned around, a melancholic expression Clark had never seen before on his face melting away into Bruce's usual stern expression. The moonlight behind him delimited his figure in a way no light should ever have been able to box the man. 

"Clark," his name was said much more gently than his friend's usual growl. 

"Thanks for organizing our engagement party here. For a while, I was scared you would actually make a fancy party at the Manor," Clark leaned on the balcony to look at the beautiful moon's reflection on the water. Bruce returned to his former position, also leaning on the balcony.

Bruce chuckled, "Of course not. I knew you wanted something rustic and picturesque for your party, not something grand or fancy.

"You know me too well," Clark laughed back. 

For a time, there was a comfortable silence, the same as they normally had since Clark had managed to become Bruce's friend. 

"Why are you out here, Bruce?" Clark asked, "The party is inside. I know the view is beautiful, but I thought you said you would relax and enjoy a party for once."

Bruce turned his head in Clark's opposite direction. He commented, "It is beautiful. It's just..."

Clark observed his friend's shoulders. It was rare he had trouble finding his words and the reporter thought he could help him complete his thought, "Quiet? You are too used to losing all your nights to Batman. Come on down, it is my engagement night and it's not the same when my best friend is not there."

Bruce's head turned back slightly, one eye fixed on Clark, "The quietness is eerie. I always think something bad is bound to happen."

Clark smiled at that, "You are too used to trouble. Tonight, it is surprisingly quiet all over the world. We should make a toast to that."

Bruce lifted his glass up, an unrecognizable emotion buried deep in the pupil of his eyes, "To the quietness."

"To the quietness," Clark answered. 

Bruce took a sip of his water and said, "Congratulation on your engagement. I wish you both happiness."

"Thanks! Now, come on down!" Clark dragged a somewhat reluctant Bruce to the festivities. 

***

Bruce pushes him away, angrily, "You don't love me like this! Don't you know how cruel you are being with me now?"

Clark's hand move forward as if to touch Bruce and stops when Bruce flinches away, "I do love you like that. Why can't you believe me?"

His former friend's eyes are brilliant with pain, "You loved Lois. You love her still. You don't think I knew that from the start?"

Clark replies without thinking, "Oh and you didn't love Selina and Talia? Don't be a hypocrite!"

Bruce recoils from his words as if Clark had squished his heart under his heels and the former reporter immediately regrets attacking his friend's too breakable's heart.

***

It was rare enough Clark got to go to any galas Bruce was attending since the reporter rarely ever wrote about them.

That time, he was attending as his wife's date and he noticed Bruce was smiling at his date and it wasn't faked. 

Clark leaned in to get a better view of the couple from his spot near the door. She was laying her hand on Bruce's shoulder and whispering that he should dance with her. His response was enthusiastic as he leads her to the floor.

After his wife finished interrogating the poor businessman she was wrangling information from, she quirked an eyebrow at him, "Well?"

"What?"

She leaned forward, "What made you smile like an idiot?"

"I think Bruce finally found himself a real date," Clark almost giggled at her.

Lois turned and looked in their direction, "Wow. It does look intense. I think I have seen her before. Selina Kyle, I believe?"

"And he thought he was going to be single until his death!" Clark laughed.

Lois elbowed him playfully, "Since when, Mr. Kent, do you spy on your friends?"

"Since they do the same to me, Mrs. Kent," Clark answered in the same serious mock tone.

Lois nodded, "He does need to be on the receiving end, sometimes." She paused and observed,"You seem happy."

Clark smiled, "Hey, it's nice to see him truly enjoying himself for once."

"That's true," Lois replied, "Maybe he only needed a good woman to make him settle down." Her fingers played on Clark's arm, "Men always seem to need someone to organize them."

"I've met my match," Clark smirked at her. 

"You sure did," she grabbed his arm and they went to the buffet.

***  
Before Clark could apologize for hurting his friend again, Bruce answers, "You know Lois and Selina and Talia are not the same, so stop comparing them on the same level."

Clark's blood overheats and that's the only thing that explains why he gives his answer, "So because Lois was actually good wife material, I should be penalized because you only chose people that were unwilling to choose you?" 

Bruce simply blinks at him and walks out of the room. 

***

That time, they were talking, seated comfortably on the sofa in the Fortress, and they hadn't even kissed yet since Bruce had forced Clark not to detain him anymore. 

It was one of Bruce's particularly good days; he was content with a nice relaxing conversation and he hadn't hurt Clark with acerbic comments yet. 

"Why didn't Selina nor Talia ever settled with you?" Clark had asked.

His friend looked dejected. 

"You don't need to answer, Bruce. I was just curious," Clark hastily added.

Bruce breathed out, "It is not really a secret. Neither wanted to settle with me. Talia is too ambitious to ever do it. Selina... does not want to be 'stuck' at one place."

Clark had wanted to ask him:"Why do you do that, Bruce? Why do you always choose people who don't want you in the long term?"

Thankfully, he didn't. Because Bruce had then slipped and revealed something it became clear he never wanted to admit, "I never told them I loved them. I never could tell them."

Clark was perplexed, "You never told your lovers you loved them?"

Bruce shook his head, miserable, "Telling someone you love them is a vulnerability you give to them. The only ones I could ever tell "I love you" were my parents, my children and Alfred."

Clark understood that whoever could make Bruce tell him he loved them had a powerful lever against him and he didn't want to ever give it to anyone except his 'family'. 

***

When Bruce had freaked out in the Fortress and ran away from Clark after the Rules of the Game incident, Clark had given him time to settle down before knocking on the door his lover had barricaded behind.

"Bruce?"

There was no answer. 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have put pressure on you to tell me you love me like that," Clark explained. 

"Why?" a small voice sounded from the other side of the door.

"Why what?" 

"Why do you want me to tell you I love you again and again when you don't love me like that?" Bruce specified.

Clark swallowed. 

He had realized how selfish he had acted. He had not told Bruce he loved him; of course Bruce would take this push for a repeat of Bruce's confession as a revenge for Bruce's behaviour. 

Before Clark could set the record straight, Bruce continued, "Don't even try saying you love me like that. I know you never did."

It was true and untrue at the same time. 

Clark had not noticed he loved Bruce before he had kissed him a few weeks ago. In some ways, it wasn't a new feeling while in some others, it was so permeating, Clark couldn't deny it any longer. 

Bruce would not believe him if he told him he loved him, nonetheless, Clark wanted to see and touch him before this thing they had will end. 

"Bruce, you did tell me you would give me pain and pleasure as your revenge. Are you done with that? I can send you home." It was the only thing Clark could think of to convince his friend to step outside his room willingly. 

There was a long pause. Clark sat his back to the door and waited. 

"I'm tired of hurting you, Clark. I want to go home," the small voice finally answered. It was not the reply the reporter had been hoping for. He didn't want to let Bruce go, not now that he knew he had a chance with him. 

"Then, dress up and come open the door," Clark answered, his eyes closed and his fists clenching.

There was a rustle and the door behind Clark's back opened to winter-ready Bruce. He seemed so small and delicate in the layers of clothes he was now sporting. 

Clark stood and they looked into one another's eyes, indecision mirrored in both. 

The Kryptonian acted more on impulse than on conscious thought by taking one of Bruce's mitten covered hand in his own. The other man did not move out of the touch so Kal simply started forward and slowly kissed Bruce's delicious lips.

The trembling lips responded with some profound desperation and Kal almost felt guilty he was using Bruce's love for him in such a way, but he couldn't let him go.

***

"Kal, you need to let him go," Diana had gently told him as she pried his fingers from the corpse's. 

He didn't want to see how much he had messed up his friend's body and Diana had told explained to him there was not much left to recognize about his face, but one hand was intact. He had requested to hold his hand and Diana had made the arrangements with the family. 

If Diana had not had superstrength, it would have been impossible for her to force him to let the deceased hand go.

She took him by arm and tugged her along. There were eyes on them on their way out. Clark wasn't sure if someone would try to kill him. He would welcome it if they did.

Maybe he would finally feel something other than numbness.

***

Stopping a mad Bruce from walking away is difficult, but not impossible. 

"Bruce!" Clark catches him before he escapes by way of the front door. 

Bruce ignores him as his hand goes to the doorknob. 

Clark starts thinking frantically about how to stop him from going away.

***

"...so Lois said I had to redo the entire article because I had messed up the timeline of the story," Clark told a busy looking Bruce typing away at a computer. It was a quiet evening two months after Clark had seen Selina and Bruce enjoying their time together at the gala.

"Clark," Bruce pronounced sharply, still, concentrating on his computer, "I don't think you came to disturb me while I am working on figuring a case just to complain about your lack of comprehension of the linear concept of chronology. Let's skip all the small chat. Why are you are?"

The man was too sharp. Clark shrugged even if he knew the other will not even bother looking at him. 

"Actually, it has to do with the concept of time," Clark asserted, vaguely insulted. 

"Then, don't waste my time and go to the point," the businessman responded, his head still stubbornly down. 

The reporter breathed out, "Fine. I have some difficulty with seeing the world in a chronological manner. For the most part, I understand most people subscribe to that point of view because of concepts of cause and effect."

"About you being chronologically challenged," Bruce interjected, "I have been making some hypothesis. Do you think it has more to do with your alien biology and wiring or is it possible it is because of your power to 'be', 'see' and 'hear' multiple facets of reality at the same time?"

The reporter pondered the question and tilted his head, "Well, Barry is also chronologically challenged but not on the same level, so maybe it is a little bit of both?"

Bruce huffed in response. 

"As I was saying before you cut in," Clark continued, "I can't really embrace the all 'cause' and 'effect' way of seeing time. Yes, I know some of the underlying issues that permitted the Second World War to came in existence, but, in some cases, the 'cause' and 'effect' linear chronology cannot be used to explain some things."

Bruce only grumbled in response, "Like?", clearly distracted by his work. 

"Love," Clark announced dramatically. Bruce glared in his direction, huge bags under his wary eyes. 

Before he could suffer another rebuttal by his tired best friend, Clark explained, "Think about it. When Jon was born, I loved him so much even though I didn't know him. If it was cause and effect only, I would have only loved him because he was my son and hormones dictated my behaviour. Yet, I believe love transcend the cause and effect approach most have to life. When I look at Jon, I see him at different ages. He is one day old, three years old, five year old, seven and ten. Isn't it extraordinary? It is almost as if all those timelines exist at the same time and I can see them pass through. I love all those 'Jon' at the same time."

The reporter would have thought this direct about love would have relaxed Bruce. To the contrary of his expectations, Bruce was even more on his guards, "It is still 'cause' and 'effect'. You love him because he was born to you."

Clark shook his head, "It still doesn't answer the true question of 'Why do you love anyone?' It does not really follow the standard cause and effect scenario."

"Where are you going with all this?" Bruce had completely stopped paying attention to his computer and Clark always found his scrutinies dangerous for any secrets he may have. 

"Well, I think all I am trying to say is that I am glad you found happiness in love," Clark confessed. 

Bruce's shoulders went up in a defensive manner, "What do you mean?"

"I've seen the way you look at her."

Bruce completely froze.

"I know you aren't one to tell me about your love life, but I was starting to think you had resigned yourself in living without a lover," Clark continued, more confused than anything about Bruce's behaviour. It was true the man hated talking emotionally, still, he could at least acknowledged the statement, right?

"I'm happy you found someone that makes you that happy," Clark explained. 

Bruce seemed even more worn out than after an especially draining battle with Joker. 

"Is that all?" the pale looking businessman snapped at the reporter, resentment and anger camouflaging whatever else he was feeling.

"Well. Looking at how busy you are, I should probably take my leave now," Clark prudently answered.

Bruce's head hung low and his hands massaged his temple, "It would probably be for the best."

"Good night, Bruce!" 

Bruce's miserable eyes followed his escape. 

Clark learned later that week that Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle were no longer dating. 

***

The Bruce with his hands on the doorknob is all of those other Bruces too. 

He is still the one who harassed him and tortured him emotionally. He is still the one who gives him unsolicited advice and spied on his every move. He is the one Clark murdered violently. He is the one who made love to him and gave him back his reason for living. He is the one who knows all of Clark's and Kal's quirks and secrets, but who refuses to acknowledge his love. 

"Bruce, I want you to find happiness in love and I think we can make it work."

Bruce visibly swallows and gazes at him, "That's the problem, isn't it? You made yourself believe you had to reciprocate my love because of your guilt."

"You knew it would be a stalemate on that front, Bruce. Why did you really come?" Clark asks, trying to stall his friend. 

"I'm returning on the superhero scene, Clark. I can't have you acting as if I am your damsel in distress. I can't have you kill or hurt villains because I used my yearning for you to get my revenge. That's why I really came. I had hoped time would have cured your madness. It seems it hasn't."

With a small sad smile, Bruce walks out of Clark's house and almost breaks his heart again.

Clark is still standing in the kitchen when Jon came back hours later. 

"Dad, what are you doing here?" Jon asks, worried. 

The writer looks at his hands; he has all the strength of the world, he has a way with words, yet, he still doesn't have the power of persuading Bruce he loves him. 

"It's him, isn't it? It's Damian' father, right?"

Clark nods in answer. 

"If it hurts so much to love him, why did you let mom go to be with him?" the teenager pursues. 

Clark tries to hide the pain in his face. Jon has too much of his mom to let him shy away, "Dad, we can change the subject if it hurts that much. It's just... I don't understand why you would want to be with someone who doesn't want to be with you."

Clark feels his throat constrict, "That's the problem. He does want to be with me."

His teenage son looks on with pity in his eyes.

"He does. It's just... He doesn't believe I really love him."

Jon gives a hug and Clark feels guilty his son is the one comforting him. The writer feels his son is a hundred, fifty and twenty years old when he finally murmurs, "Everything will be fine, Dad. The hurt will fly away."

And Clark holds on to him, incapable of stopping the water from dripping onto his son's broad back.

***

"Why did you choose Joseph Thomas as an alias?" Jon had asked from the kitchen counter in their new rural setting.

"Well," Clark explained while taking out the grocery, "Joseph is my middle name."

"I know that," snapped Jon, "I was wondering about the Thomas part."

Clark stayed silent. He and Lois had never really told him about Bruce's part in their divorce. 

"It's Damian's grandfather's name, right?" Jon pushed, angriness in the edge of his voice.

"It is, but it is not as a tribute for him that I took that name," Clark responded. 

"Then who?" It was not idle curiosity in Jon's voice; there was the same sharpness as in Lois's. 

"It is Bruce's middle name," Clark finally said, putting the milk in the fridge. 

There was long silence in the kitchen.

"I don't understand," Jon admitted.

"That's fine. Nobody quite understands it, me or Bruce included."

"That doesn't make sense," Jon argued. 

Clark shrugged, "It doesn't. I find that love doesn't really follow a clear path."

"So, you love Damian's father. Does that mean you no longer love mom? You always told me you love her. Is that a lie now?" Jon continued.

Clark faced his son, "It's not a lie. I do love her. I'll always love her. It's just that... things changed between us."

"It still doesn't make sense. We were happy together and now you tell me it wasn't a lie, but things 'changed'? That's a euphemism for something else, right? It means you think I'm too young to understand?"

The writer shook his head, "It means it is hard to describe. It just happened and even if I look for a specific cause for the changes, I doubt I would find it. I loved your mother for a long time. Things shouldn't have changed, but they did."

"But we still could have lived together, mother, you and I! You decided to change things by yourself!"

"I did change things. I couldn't lie to your mother. I couldn't lie to myself. That's harder than you would think, not telling yourself lies. That's how you become a hero."

Jon glared at him, "I don't think I ever want to be a hero if a hero cheats on his wife."

His father smiled at him, "I hope you don't cheat on anyone. You just need to be honest with yourself, no matter how badly it hurts."

"That sounds painful," Jon stole an apple from the grocery bag. 

"It sometimes is."

Clark believed things would still go well if you had integrity and honesty, no matter how desperate the situation seemed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically Clark's point of view, which is why it is so long (over 9,500 words written in a week for one work!)
> 
> I had thought this story through until this point when I started out this work, although my latter chapters were so long I had to cut them in pieces. So, the epilogue is coming up.
> 
> In other news, Bruce simply has the worst timing for love confessions. 
> 
> Jon was not even supposed to have much of a role, but it seems I can't resist changing all my plans for this work...


	9. Sunset's Reflection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the conclusion.

Bruce had had enough disturbances in a week. 

"Hello? Are you there, Mister Wayne?" the young voice calls from his door.

First Lois, then Clark, now Jonathan. What did Bruce do to deserve their hounding? Granted, he was the one seeking Clark's company, but that was mostly to make him stop obsessing about him. 

"Mister Wayne?" the voice calls after some more knocking. Bruce really wants to ignore the voice.

"What do you want?" he answers, still hoping the kid would simply walk away. 

There is a hesitation before a shaky reply is heard, "Can I talk to you? I have something to discuss with you if you have time. I'm sorry to barge in uninvited but I really needed to speak to you?"

The older man sighs and walks to the door. He disarms the door and opens it to be greeted with the sight of strange teenage version mix of Lois and Clark who was currently twisting nervously his shirt in his hands. 

"Come in," Bruce says, still eyeing the kid, wary. The kid immediately obeys and rushes inside with a touch of superspeed.

The kid looks around, ill at ease in the cabin. 

"You can take a seat, Jonathan," Bruce allows, already establishing in his mind the most likely reason the kid was visiting him. It wasn't any good.

The teenager sits on the edge of the sofa, his feet shifting uncomfortably on the floor. The older man sits closer to him that he had to Lois, but still far enough as to avoid making the prolonged silence even more awkward. Still, the kid wouldn't speak; he still looks at the floor and glances in a way that was probably intended to be subtle in Bruce's direction-in Bruce's opinion, the subtle aspect of the movement was greatly lacking.

If there had been a clock in the room, they would have heard its ticking hand for over a minute before Bruce actually starts the conversation, "How is Damian?"

Jonathan's head whips up in obvious relief at the familiar subject, "He's fine! The raid went well and Alfred the cat has been cured of his small infection... He's doing great at school!"

Bruce swallows his saliva. It brings him back to some moments he isn't proud of.

***"Kal, he is doing great at school. You should be proud..."*** Bruce had uttered to an almost somnolent Kal on lying by his sides. He had felt his best friend's stillness and despair mounting of their small peaceful and intimate moments, as they studied what was the use of a particular plant for Kryptonians for romantic endeavours, interrupted by Bruce's whispered vengeance, mixing two happy moments together, knowing it would spoil both with his insinuations. 

Or, worse... 

Clark was on his back, hands clinging to Bruce's back as to a lifeline. "Bruce," he had moaned, his body yearning the sweet release of an orgasm. It was not an exaggeration to say Bruce then thought he could die happy with the man he loved so obviously in love with him, in his arms.

Then, he remembered this was all the fruit of an illusion he was now becoming trapped in. The reminder shattered his illusion of happiness; pieces of what could be were always crueller when faced with the impossibility of reality.

He had to break the spell, to put a distance between himself and the lie he had created, "Did Lois make you feel like this, Clark? I doubt she made you beg for more. I'm sure I could if I tried." The pain in Clark's eyes concerning Lois should have stopped Bruce on the spot, but he had started and wanted to crash this illusion on itself; it hurt so much to know this was all a lie Clark would one day wake from and walk back to Lois, feeling betrayed by his best friend's scheming. 

Bruce's throat grew constricted at the thought of Clark returning to Lois and his movement stopped, "Beg for it. I know you want to beg for more. Everyone has always turned to you for help and guidance. You hate the responsibilities it gives you, the need to fill everyone else's need. I'll fill your lust much more than Lois could ever have done if you beg for it." 

Clark whined as he tried to grind on Bruce to get come and the other man pinned him completely and he felt the tremors running in Clark as his need for release became more urgent. 

"Shush, Clark. You no longer control your destiny. That's what you've always wanted, you cowardly man. You've always wanted someone that could take you," his hand caressed Clark's Adam's apple with a feathery touch and Clark shuddered, "and reduce your extraordinary powers to nothing. Because, truthfully, they are nothing." Clark's eyes glinted with lust, pain and overwhelming desire as he opened his mouth, "Please... Bruce". Bruce chuckled, "That's not good enough. Didn't Lois teach you how to properly beg?" The pinned man shook his head, breathless.

"Bruce," Clark half chided, half pleaded, still trying to touch as much as possible of his partner's body.

"Beg now, Clark," Bruce continued as he felt his darker desires subdue his more fragile love, burying the latter deep inside his chest. Clark whined as the pinning man rubbed his body on him.

Bruce whispered in his ears, "You need to ask it as if your family's lives depended on it as if I'd kill your son and your wife if you didn't ask in the right way. Haven't you ever imagined it? Begging a villain for your family's lives? What if I was the villain?"

There was a silent while Clark took a breathe and steadied himself, "No. That's enough." 

With a nonchalant (and planned) shrug, Bruce removed himself from Clark and stood up in front of a confused Clark with one simple word, "Fine. " With a smirk, Bruce walked to the door. 

"Wait!" a raspy voice interjected as Bruce knew he would. Clark had always feared rejection, always feared he would be abandoned, left behind as his Kryptonians parents had done to save his life. Clark didn't understand survival; he simply understood what it meant to be the last of his kind, to be a monster in a non-monster world. Bruce knew it too much not to use it against Clark with the threat of his departure, especially since Clark probably remembered Bruce's last 'departure' (his death).

Bruce had ignored him, continuing to his destination. Clark could never call his bluffs.

"Wait..." Clark pleaded, his voice more and more desperate as he spoke, "Please, Bruce, don't go, I beg you." His voice was shaking at the end and Bruce felt gratified he could hear the tears in his friend's voice, "Good. Now, that's what I call begging. It seems you can actually be taught new tricks."

Clark hugged him tight against his chest, almost crushing him, and muttered, sounding traumatized, "Don't leave. Don't go."

Was there something more exhilarating as the power held over someone powerful? It was hard to say. Bruce thought, that failing real love, at least, he could control Clark's pain and pleasure, as he slowly comforted Clark and entered him again to bring him bliss. It was too easy to bring his friend over the edge, for part of Clark really wanted someone to hold power over him and Bruce seemed to play the part perfectly. 

Bruce hates remembering all the awful things he ever did to Clark, including mentally taking his family as a hostage against him. 

Why Jonathan would come to see a man who ruined his father's life was beyond Bruce's understanding. 

Jonathan tilts his head in his direction, "Don't you already know all that about Damian? Don't you see him often?"

Bruce immediately regrets his chosen topic, "We Skype." The teenager blinks at his interlocutor and the older man can see the question in his face, a mix of Lois's curiosity and Clark's kind puzzlement. 

"Why don't you see one another? You came back from the dead! Shouldn't you, you know, try to spend more times with everyone?" Jonathan exclaims before he seems to regret his rash statement. 

"Sorry. I know that wasn't polite," the teenager apologizes one hand playing with his hair in a distractingly manner, "I know I should respect your boundaries, but I don't understand why neither you nor Damian are seeing each other in person. It's... If dad had died, I would have made sure to spent more time with him, not less... Does it make sense...?"

Bruce interrupts before the rambling can continue, "It's more complicated than that."

"How can it be more complicated? Damian loves you, you know? He's always talking about his father. And you love him, right? Why is it more complicated than that?" the boy answers with vehemence and hand gestures.

Bruce didn't know how he could explain the intricacies of life to Lois's and Clark's son. It truly wasn't his place. It wasn't anyone's place.

Finally, he simply leans back and answers as vaguely as he can, "Life is complicated."

The teenager simply stares at him as if he was the alien, "That doesn't make any sense, at all."

In Bruce's mind, it does. It is simply difficult to articulate it in words.

In truth, Bruce knew he was the one who had never learned to grieve in a healthy way any of his deads. His parents. Jason.

When Damian had lost his father, he had grieved in a healthy way.

It was healthy, after the death of someone close to you, to make more social connections or to strengthen your social relationships with others to compensate for the loss. It did not mean you forgot the deceased nor did it devaluate your past relationship with them; it is simply a mechanism to move on. 

Bruce knew that, although the grieving may never completely disappear, a normal grieving process would last about one year; Bruce was thought dead for well over a year. 

During that period, Dick had taken over as Damian's parental figure and model in his life. 

Bruce was proud his sons had grieved efficiently, unlike himself. 

Nonetheless, it gave the family quite the dilemma; with whom should Damian go with? 

Bruce had looked himself in a mirror and had seen his answer as plain as the day; Damian should not be him while he was this upset by his resurrection, and, even if Bruce got better, it would be too late to change Damian's guardian since he had finally lived in a stable environment and Bruce couldn't take it away. Damian took Bruce's decision very badly.

It was not even an option for Bruce to live with Dick and Damian at that point either.

Bruce knew Dick and himself couldn't live in the same house long term. There were reasons Dick had moved to Bludhaven. It wasn't for a lack of love; if anything, it was too much of it. 

Bruce knew he was a hard man to live with and Dick was someone who had too much empathy and respect for his old mentor to let him torture himself. It created gaps upon gaps that love only drove even further apart. 

The billionaire was painfully aware love was not a glue that fixed things; it only made the broken thing seem more heartwrenching. 

"Most things are complicated," Bruce answers the intimidated teenager who wouldn't let him alone. There was not a trace of condescension in his tone as he, himself, was lost amid the life's complications.

Jonathan's huge eyes were a shade of Clark's resolution to solve a matter no matter what and a shade of Lois's don't-bullshit-me expression, "Mom once told me: situations can be complex, but human beings are the only ones who make it complicated."

There was some truth to it, but Bruce knows the truth is as flexible and easily manipulable as humans tend to be.

The older man simply nods and gazes at the kid, still uncertain why he is there.

There is another silence and Bruce knows the kid will probably leave in sheer embarrassment if nothing else happens, and, as strange as it is, the former Batman vigilante knows that, from the depth of himself, he wants him to stay a bit longer. 

"Do you want something to drink?" he asks as politely as Alfred's taught manners permit.

The teenager nods, clearly relieved with this break in the pressure of the room. Bruce fetches a glass of water and they talk about Damian's day-to-day business for a full hour with no more awkward silences. As the sky starts to darken, Jonathan suggests it is time he heads home. 

Bruce accompanies him to the door, still trying to be the perfect host Alfred hoped he would one day be. 

Jonathan smiles politely and says, "Mister Wayne, thanks for having me over even though I barged into your home, uninvited."

Bruce nods, "No need to call me Mister Wayne. You can call me Bruce."

Jonathan looks uncertain with the request but still pronounces, "Bruce," as if trying his name.

There was something sweet and hard for Bruce to hear his name called out by Clark's son. It wasn't as if Bruce had always accepted being simply called Bruce. 

Especially, this one incident... 

It had happened not long after Bruce's parents were murdered and Alfred had been declared Bruce's guardian. Alfred had scolded Bruce and had made the mistake of calling his ward by his first name without the 'Master' in front. 

Bruce had exploded, "You are not my father and you'll never be him so stop acting like you are!" 

Then, Alfred had seemed stoic to the eight-year-old boy. Now, it was clear he was anything but composed when he had sent 'Master Bruce' to his bedroom. 

Alfred had never called him 'Bruce' again. 

"Why did you come?" Bruce had to ask Jonathan, focusing on anything but his too numerous regrets. 

The teenager confesses, "I want dad to be happy and he seems to believe you can make him feel happier."

"Do you believe it?" Bruce asks without thinking it twice.

Jonathan lifts his shoulders, "I don't know. Happiness is not found in someone else, it is found in yourself. At least, that's what dad used to say."

The boy is wise enough to gain wisdom in his parents' life experience, something Bruce hadn't had the chance to capitalize on with his own parents. 

"But," the boy added, "he really loves you and misses you in his life."

Bruce wants nothing more than to avoid this conversation, yet, he could never shut down a kid's point of view without trying to place himself in the child's position. 

"Why do you think so?" 

Jonathan looks at the ground, worried he said too much, "It is easy to see he loves you. He talks about you, you know? Not like Damian or Dick does exactly. But, it is evident to see he loves you."

"And what do you think of that?"

The teenager freezes at the question, "I... was angry at the start. Why you? Why not mom?" 

There was a heavy silence until he continues, "In a way, it didn't matter why. He loves you and he is convinced you love him. Apparently, you are too stubborn to see he loves you."

Jonathan seems to realize the inappropriateness of his statement as he looks ashamed and stutters, "Don't... I mean... I'm sorry."

Bruce smiles at him, "I'm not angry with you. It was a nice gesture of you to visit me. I hope you will continue to be Damian's friend."

Jonathan smiles, relieved, and says goodbye before disappearing. 

It was nothing like Jason's very disturbing disappearance and subsequent death, still, the tug of fear in his chest was the same. People broke so easily, kids, even more so. 

None of them should be involved in the superhero business, yet, Bruce can't seem to stop any of them. And he can't stop hurting anyone, either.

***

Clark had heard the change in Bruce's heart at the end of his bizarre conversation with Clark's son. 

It wasn't long after his son's own departure at the cabin that the former reporter knocks on the door. 

"Why are you here?" Bruce eerily answers. 

"I'll go if you don't want me here," Clark simply responds, leaving the ultimate choice in Bruce's hands.

"Do you have something to tell me?" Bruce pursues.

Clark closes his eyes and leans his forehead on the door, "I do."

"Then, enter."

The writer does so to find a prostrate Bruce seating at the table with some tea at his elbow and a frown on his face. 

"Why did it change anything?" Clark gently asks.

There was no answer, as was expected by Clark. 

"How did something my son told you managed to change your position?" he clarifies.

Bruce looks outside, "It didn't."

"Why did you call me out, then?" 

Bruce musses his hair with his hands, "It was a moment of weakness. If that is all, fly away to your blue skies." He dismisses him with a gesture.

It is hard not to want to strangle the man, "Bruce. You just said 'Clark, I want to live with you'. There is no way this conversation ends with you telling me it was simply a mistake."

Bruce turns his glare on him, "You should go live your life without thinking of me."

Clark crosses his arms on his chest, "No. You would still want me in your life and neither of us would be happy."

"You'd be happy without me. You were happy," Bruce responds with quiet resignation. 

Clark winces. On some levels, he has no argument against his former best friend's, because it is true.

***

It was their wedding evening and Lois was simply sublime in her lengthy white dress and her gorgeous smile irradiating from all of her body.

He had taken her hand and kissed her tenderly. She took his hand and kissed him with a slightly competitive edge. Clark couldn't tear his eyes from her, couldn't believe she, radiant being she was, could choose him over everybody else. He was truly lucky.

"Kiss, kiss, " hollered Hal from his seat far away. The crowd repeated the request louder. Lois and Clark stood up and Clark chastely kissed her on the forehead. There was no need to share more of their intimacy with the others. The crowd booed them in disappointment. Lois laughed at their misguided enthusiasm and sat down again by his side, hands still in his.

"Bruce, I don't understand; why are they upset with Clark and Lois kissing if it is what they had requested?" Clark could hear his Amazonian friend ask his best friend a bit farther down the table. 

"Some idiots believe the bride and groom should kiss in a passionate fashion at their wedding. It is a voyeuristic instinct ingrained in humans, especially, apparently in Hal," Bruce's somewhat disabused answer made Clark smile. 

Lois looked up at him, "What?" 

Clark chuckled, "Bruce is trying to explain the whole 'kiss, kiss' ritual to Diana. It is kind of funny."

Lois glanced at Bruce clarifying his answer and she arched an eyebrow, "Let me guess. He used the explanation as a means to insult Hal." 

"Bingo."

Lois's eyes glinted with one of her 'ideas', "That reminds me... We should have some memorable entertainment for our wedding, right?"

Clark blinked at her, "Will it get us in trouble?"

She smirked, "Of course not, Clark. Have I ever gotten us in trouble with any of my ideas?" Yes, you did, Clark mentally responded. He was smart enough not to say it out loud.

Lois hit her glass with a utensil, bringing attention back to her. She then stood up with all her charming confidence, "I wish to thank everyone who has helped this wedding come into reality, whether it was with your presence at our sides or by helping us choose the food and the decorations. I want to give a special thanks to my father and Clark's mom and dad who helped us every step of the way. I also send my regards to the priest who married us today and, who, made a special journey from Smallville to be here with us today. Thank you all for your contribution. It means so much you could all come here tonight." 

She paused and the crowd applauded her speech. She brought her hand up to silence them after a few moments. 

"I also want to thank Diana Prince and Bruce Wayne for giving us a special gift tonight," Lois continued on the same tone. If it wasn't for Diana's widening eyes, Clark would have sincerely thought this had been previously arranged with the aforementioned as neither Lois nor Bruce seemed to react to the surprising statement.

"I have mentioned to them I had always wanted to learn how to dance the salsa and they have agreed to provide us with a special demonstration tonight as a wedding gift. Thank you for your good-natured gift."

Bruce's eyes flickered to Clark and he quirked an eyebrow, asking him a question. The reporter wanted to laugh. Instead, he brought his thumb up in his direction with a grin on his face. 

Bruce blinked and stood up, "Lois, it will be Diana's and my pleasure to give our demonstration now." With that, he took out his jacket (for once, Bruce had not worn a tuxedo or a three-piece suit-which probably meant he didn't want to upstage Clark at his wedding-although Bruce's clothing was still much better quality than anything Clark owned) with precise movements, removed his tie in one graceful movement, opened the first two buttons of his blouse and slicked back his hair. He looked dangerously like a pale-faced Don Juan.

"Should we get started?" He asked Diana while offering his hand, a competitive smile on. 

She smiled back and grasped his hand. It was on. 

The music started and Diana and Bruce circled one another gracefully. It might have seemed only seductive if you weren't aware of all the times they started their sparring in the same manner. So, they would take the same approach to dance as they did to sparring? Clark really had strange friends. 

The charged emotions were thick in the air as Bruce possessively held on to Diana's hips. His month hovered close enough to her's, only a breath away. Their eyes fixed on one another as if they were bewitched by the other and couldn't look at anyone else. 

Then, it became a swirl of sensual movements, each more intense than the one before. It swiftly became clear the true champion of salsa was none other than Bruce. 

There wasn't anything wrong with Diana. 

She was easily the most attractive woman in the world (except Lois, of course) and her altruistic love was always making everyone fall in love with her. She was Goddess on Earth, sovereign of her body and its movements: agile and swift when needed, surefooted and well-coordinated with her partner. Unfortunately, Diana was someone too frank and direct to truly suit the push and pull of the seductive dance. Like Clark, she would pursue her love shamelessly by admitting her love and faithfully trying to prove her worth to her partner.

Bruce, on the other hand, was not the most handsome man in the world and he was not even that tall either. But, in his eyes blazed the passion and determination of Batman to obtain his goals no matter the costs and, in his movements, one could see the barely repressed sensuality Bruce Wayne could project to ensure the continuity of his playboy image. It was probably the closer Clark had seen of his friend's true core personality in public. 

In this, Bruce shined like the ocean, capricious in its pull and push, unrestrained passions sweeping over fertile land to disappear in an instant. He was vast and overwhelmingly present in his teasing back and forth, twirling Diana away and nestling her back in his arms at a moment's notice.

Moreover, Clark could feel Diana's frustration welling at not being able to use her full strength in public, like she would in a sparring practice, while Bruce showcased his flexibility and strength with ingenuity for all to admire-and there was much to admire. He was versatile; his come-hither eyes that burned with barely repressed desire could suddenly turn to ice, as swiftly as water could snuff a candle. 

It was breathtaking to see Bruce bend backwards and away from his partner, as the girl dancer normally does, only to grasp Diana's cheeks with the desperation of a dying lover wishing to look into in his lover's eyes in their last moment on Earth. 

Diana could follow the insanity in his movements, ready to follow his lead, although Clark was sure she could only ever manage that because of their sparring sessions since Bruce was incandescently morphing with each movement, passions repressed and expressed shown in a fervent succession.

The dance finally ended and Clark could finally breathe, something he had forgotten to do during the entirety of the dance. Bruce's eyes flickered over to the groom and bride, something sorrowful appearing and disappearing so fast in his eyes, anyone other than Clark would not have even noticed its presence. 

The applause was thunderous. 

Diana and Bruce politely bowed in the crowd's direction, Bruce's plastered smile evidently fake. They bowed in Clark's and Lois's direction before sitting down at their previous seats. 

"That was..." Clark finally said, still staring at the empty space the dancers had previously occupied.

"Amazing, right?" Lois agreed, "I knew they'd be something to look at, but wow... That was much more than I could have hoped for."

There was a silence in which Clark had to get back to his immediate surroundings. He had been so focused on the spectacle he had forgotten his beautiful wife was at his side. 

He had to process a thought that made his stomach churn, "Did he ever dance with you like that...?" If Bruce had ever danced with Lois like that, there was no way she would have chosen Clark.

Lois laughed, "No. I knew he was a good dancer, but definitively not that good." She must have noticed the slightly worried look she was getting from her husband because she touched his back, "Clark, it doesn't matter who has the best moves. You dedicated hours and hours of practice for our first dance to be perfect. You're exactly who I wanted to marry." Her soft eyes drink him in and there is no way Clark can resist the pull as they both fell entranced. This was love, he thought, a soft balm upon your heart, toughening you up and making you enjoy life all that more. It was a soft blanket to comfort you to sleep.

Later, that evening, when it was time for Diana and Bruce to go, Clark quietly took Diana on the side. She looked at him, seemingly unsurprised with him dragging her away from Bruce and Lois with a simple mumbled out excuse. 

Clark glanced back to verify if either his wife or Bruce could overhear him; it was always hard to tell since his hearing was much better than normal humans. Bruce seemed to be promising some sort of way to get his retribution in exchange for his 'gift' and Lois was responding something along the lines that he was lucky it was the salsa and not the duck song she had chosen. They really knew how to respond tic-for-tac. Clark's throat grew constricted at the thought they both had so much more in common between themselves then either had with Clark.

"What is it, Clark?" Diana asked after a moment.

"I know this is an awkward question, but are you and Bruce together?" Clark responded, knowing better than to ask the question to Bruce himself.

Diana chuckled, "You must have overheard many people asking us that question. Didn't you hear the answer we gave?"

He nodded, "I know, but, Bruce is an excessively private person and you would both answer the same thing whether it was true or false."

Diana seemed amused, "We simply danced and now everyone wants invitations to our marriage."

Clark smiled at that, "That was not a 'simple' dance. It had chemistry, and you know it. Besides, it is not the only time you had that charged mood between the two of you. I'm just trying to make sure I know what my two best friends are up to. I don't want to be the blissfully married best friend who ignores his friends' lives."

"It won't come to that, Clark," she answers with a crinkle between her eyebrows. Then, she gazed at a distance and her voice seemed far away, "It is hard to be part of the Justice League without asking 'what if' about your colleagues who have similar values in life." Clark could feel his friend was not simply discussing her and Bruce, but also her and Clark. 

"We have chemistry, there's no denying it. We asked ourselves the question. The answer for us both was no." Her eyes turned to him and an old fondness shone in them, "It is normal to ask yourself 'what if', yet, I know better than to indulge in them too long. We could have been happy, but I doubt we would have been. You are happy with your choice, friend, and I see in your eyes you don't regret it. I don't either. I prayed to Hera to bless your marriage with happiness." 

Clark was happy with her blessing. It had been true the question had hung between them a few years back. Ultimately, both Diana and Clark had decided not to pursue anything more. He had chosen Lois and his heart told him he would never love another woman as much as he loved Lois, Diana included. There were understanding and happiness in Diana's eyes; he sensed she had no misgivings nor hidden sadness. Diana could sense the truth of their situation and accepted they had never been meant together.

Diana turned her eyes to watch Lois retort something snappy at a smirking Bruce, "Besides, I would not have the necessary patience to dance with him forever. I might not yearn a quiet and even life like you do, but I would rather not go through the amusement ride a life with Bruce would be. It would be entertaining, yet, I think I would lack the patience to stomach it." 

Clark had to agree. He had no doubt Bruce could seduce anyone he had set his mind to; hadn't his passionate dance made everyone blush at its intensity? At the same time, there was a certain imbalance in him, meaning his varying moods would be the main factor in the relationship's status. Clark was sad to learn that intensity was not directed at Diana: they would have made a pretty balanced couple. He hoped Bruce would find the same bliss Clark had found with Lois. 

Diana and Clark walked back to Lois and Bruce and it was clear the two mortals were on the same wavelength in their intellectual and competitive level. 

He kissed her on her cheek and it put a stop to the animated discussion Clark's wife and his best friend was having, both turning their eyes in his direction.

"Don't you think it is time to go, Lois?" he whispered in her ear. She leaned her head contentedly on him, "Humm... We probably should let the guests enjoy themselves." The vague feeling of worry at leaving his wife with Bruce dissipated as Clark realized how foolish he had been to overthink Bruce's sorrowful eyes. Lois had chosen him and he had chosen her. 

He turned to Bruce and Diana and noticed how dissimilar they were in their postures. 

The generous love in Diana's eyes surrounded them with her blessing and fondness while she looked fresh and relaxed. 

Bruce, on the other hand, seemed older and tired, probably he was reeling from another sleepless week working as Batman to ensure nobody would disturb the marriage. His hand tightened around his still full wine glass while his eyes glanced distractedly at his watch. 

"Before you go, please accept Hera's blessing. I'll pray for your happiness at her altar," Diana prompted with white teeth flashing. 

"Thanks for everything," Lois gracefully answered, "including your superb dance."

"It changes from our usual sparring practices. It is nice to do something fun together once in a while," Diana gave Bruce an amused look as she talked. Bruce, on the other hand, was strangely mute and unresponsive, even with non-verbal communication, although he wasn't exactly sullen. Clark thought it bizarre since he had had no issue complaining/explaining to Diana earlier in the evening, nor did he have any issues starting fights with Lois on her wedding day.

"Why don't we make our own last toast tonight?" Lois suggested.

Clark smiled at her looking up to him with an arched eyebrow, clearly suggesting he should be the one proposing the toast, "Why don't we toast to happiness?" 

"To happiness!" Diana and Lois answered while lifting their glasses up in unison. Bruce had lifted his up at the same time and he had silently whispered a, "To your happiness," that nobody except Clark could hear and Bruce's eyes briefly rested on Clark's before he down the entire content of his wine glass.

If it had not been Clark's marriage, he would have seriously questioned his best friend's behaviour that night. He figured it could wait another time as neither of the women seemed to notice anything wrong with Bruce. 

Lois gave a hug to Bruce and Diana and Clark went to follow suit, starting with Diana. When he turned to his other friend, he had already disappeared and Lois took Clark's arm and walked to their car with shining eyes. 

"That was a perfect wedding," Lois commented out loud, resplendent and excited under the starry sky. 

"It sure was," Clark took her in his arms and carried her to the car. For once in her life, she didn't complain about being manhandled; she giggled. And, for the life of Clark, he had not heard a worthier sound to start a beautiful life together. They'd be happy, he was sure, he thought as he looked at the brilliant spots in the sky.

***

What Bruce had said was undoubtedly true: Clark had loved Lois. 

It was bad enough Clark had previously said the fact he had been married to Lois for over sixteen years was the equivalent of Bruce being with Talia before Clark had even entered the picture or that Bruce dating Selina for very sporadic periods while Clark was married to Lois was equivalent. 

It is unfair to Bruce for Clark to dismiss the question as impertinent.

Sometimes, you simply had to face the issues directly. 

Clark gazes at his former friend and lover still looking at him, eyes wide, waiting for his sentence, for the verdict Clark was really still in love with Lois Lane. 

Clark swallows. It is hard to look more vulnerable than Bruce seemed at the moment; it wouldn't take much to break his fragile heart who had loved Clark for over fifteen years. In hindsight, Clark should have put the clues together. 

***

They had been stuck on another planet on the other side of the galaxy together. At that point in time, Batman and Superman were barely beginning to talk to one another without it ending in a verbal fight. 

"Are you okay?" Superman had to ask when he saw how much of his colleague's armour had been destroyed in the last attack. 

Batman simply grunted as he stripped his armour on his right arm. As he cautiously examined the damages, he responded, "You will need to set my bone straight." 

Superman stared at the man casually telling him he needed to set a bone in his colleague's arm, "Excuse me?"

Batman looked at him impatiently, "You have to set my bone."

"But that will hurt you..." Superman muttered.

Batman glared at him like he was an idiot, "Of course, it will."

Superman brought his hands up defensively, "Can't it wait? I don't want to hurt humans. It feels wrong."

"And letting my bone stay crooked for the rest of my life is better?" Batman sarcastically replied. He always grew more sarcastic when tired and hungry.

"Can't it wait until we go back home?" Superman pleaded, sure he didn't want to play doctor with his powerful arms. 

Batman glared harder, "I know you don't like me, but that's going too far. I'll obviously be the one flying us out of here and you want me to stay with a crooked bone until we get home? I did not know you were this cruel."

"I'm not," Superman snapped, "I'm just worried I'll make it worst and, I don't know, make you bleed to death?"

Batman gestured angrily with his other arm, "Do you want me to try and set my own arm with my left hand?"

"That'd be plain stupid, Batman," Superman replied as furiously.

"Not as stupid as letting your colleague stay with a displaced bone while you can easily fix it."

"I'M NOT A DOCTOR! I DON'T KNOW HOW TO FIX YOUR ARM!"

"JUST FOLLOW MY INSTRUCTIONS!" Batman had yelled back, clearly disregarding his own previous order to lay low.

Superman was taken aback, "You know how to fix your arm?" 

Batman answered, "I dabbled enough in medecine to know basic procedures."

Superman nodded, uncertainly. 

"Come here," Batman ordered and Superman came closer.

"Now, touch the bone to see where it is placed, " the vigilante commanded. 

Superman delicately touched Batman's arm and he was surprised to see the vigilante flinch at the touch that was not even close to the bone.

"Touch the bone, not the arm!" Batman chided. 

"Okay," Superman responded, carefully tracing the displaced bone with his fingers. 

"Now, take the upper side of the bone and you will need to push it back in the socket."

"Won't it hurt a lot?" Superman couldn't help but question the procedure.

"It will hurt on the spot, but my bones will be straight for the rest of my life. Otherwise, my arm will ache for the rest of my life and I won't be able to use it efficiently," Batman had explained, seemingly relenting with his aggressivity. 

Superman swallowed and prepared himself. 

"One, two, three, Go," Batman counted. Superman pushed back the bone in its rightful place, "Is that better?"

Batman slowly flexed his arm, "It is fine." He quickly bandaged the arm to ensure the bone stays in place.

Superman would personally not have chosen the word 'fine' to describe the situation. 

"Now, let's start planning our escape from here," Batman continued, having apparently completely forgotten he just had his bone placed back. 

Superman almost tuned out of the plan of attack as he was distracted by one singular thought: Why had Batman flinch at his touching his arm while he hadn't uttered a word nor made a movement when Superman placed back his bone? 

Finally, Superman shrugged; it didn't matter.

*** 

Clark had once set Batman's arm. He could try the same with his heart.

"It's true, Bruce. I was happy with Lois. I loved her and I still love her," Clark knew his words were cruel, still, he had to say them.

Bruce stares at him and Clark could feel his heart breaking again, "But I love you and I want to be with you."

Bruce laughs brokenly (it is a truly ugly sound in Clark's opinion),**"I understand your presence moves the very core of my soul."**

There were sarcasm and sincerity in the voice and Clark's heart aches at the way Bruce uses his soft declaration of love like a mockery of Clark's intention while saying how much he had loved Clark.

"It's true, Bruce, I love you. I don't want to be with Lois. I want to be with you," Clark continues.

Bruce laughs with tears streaking from his face, **"My soul elevates towards you like waves. I simply pray you will not break it, in vain, like the shore of your indifference could surely do."** 

Clark flinches. For almost twenty years (if he had guessed correctly), Bruce had been in love with him. Clark had broken it over and over in his ignorance. It wasn't exactly his fault Bruce had never told him anything until that fateful night a year ago he had admitted he loved Clark. It wasn't completely Clark's fault he hadn't understood his concern for Bruce was steeming from romantic love and not friendship. Still, it hurt.

Bruce continues reciting, an unrelenting force to his own destruction, **"Henceforth, if my heart is too heavy a burden, I beg you, nonetheless, to leave the door of your heart ajar to stop mine from drying out a second time, without the radiance of your love. I have long travelled and learned new languages. However, none of them have the words to describe the depth of my love for you."**

Clark gazes, transfixed, at Bruce's pained eyes. Kryptonite couldn't have hurt more.

Quietly, so quietly nobody other than Clark would have caught it, Bruce said, **"Home is where the heart lives. You are my heart, wherever you live. You are always welcome to break it."**

Clark couldn't help it. Bruce had changed the wording, from "You are always welcome in mine" to "You are always welcome to break it". Clark didn't have the strength to cry. He didn't have the strength to deny breaking it. 

It wasn't Clark's fault Bruce had never told him. It wasn't Clark's fault they were where they were today. He just wanted to make sure their paths continued together. 

"Does that mean you believe I love you?" Clark gently asks.

Bruce shrugs, "Does it matter? You know there isn't much I wouldn't do for you. You can go ahead and break my heart again and again and I'll always come back because I can't tear my heart away from you. I know; I've tried for the past nineteen years."

Clark gently prods, "Why didn't you say anything before my marriage to Lois?"

Bruce wipes his glittering cheeks, "You were in love with her. You were happy. How could I tear you apart?" 

It was hard for Clark to press, but he needed to set Bruce's heart straight to avoid it to grow astray in years to come, "I loved you back then too, Bruce. If you had mentioned you loved me, I would have examined the question and I would have probably figured out I loved you too." 

Bruce's blue eyes seemed darker than usual as he responds, "That's because you pity me. I never wanted your pity." 

"It's not pity. It was never pity."

Bruce simply looks at him and Clark just wants to take him in his arms and to protect him from harm forever. He knows Bruce would never let him do so. 

He knows enough how Bruce works to know his dance steps. It's one step forward, two backward. That's him in love.

Clark instead chooses to look at the slowly darkening sky from the window. 

"Does that mean you won't revive me if I die?" Bruce asks in a resigned manner.

Clark doesn't turn around,"Could you swore you won't try to revive me either if I die?"

The man at the table doesn't answer and that's a clear enough answer for Clark. 

"If you really care for that," the Kryptonian continues, "Why don't you make sure someone else is responsible for respecting your choices? There is much I would do for you, but don't ask me not to revive you. I don't want to be alone again."

"You're not alone," Bruce's hoarse voice answers.

***

It wasn't long after Clark had lost his father and, on a whim, he had flown to Bruce's study and knocked on the window. 

Clark didn't understand why he had come there. Bruce was not a comforting person in the best of times. Yet, instincts being what they were, he had come to Bruce's side, not his wife's. Maybe, he reasoned, it was because he didn't want pity.

Bruce had just let him in as if Clark normally just flew to his window for conversations. 

They both sat on the sofa and Clark couldn't find the words to explain his emotions. He didn't need to bother as Bruce hesitatingly embraced him and rocked him back and forth, "You're not alone." **"You're not alone."** 

Clark cried and cried, hanging on to Bruce's awkward gentleness. He had never felt less alone in his life. 

Bruce was nothing like a blanket of comfort. 

He was a passion that made you feel as much as he did.

Bruce had always been hyperaware of the dangers of feeling too much, which was why he put all of his attention counterbalancing that with cold logic. 

And Clark clung to that passion. He wanted to remember how much he loved his father. He wanted to feel alive and loved. He wanted to revel in the togetherness he felt. 

Bruce let him cry on his shoulder all that night and never said anything more than a litany of, "You are not alone," in English or in Kryptonian. 

They never spoke a word about that night.

***

Bruce hates his lack of self-control. 

He can never resist a lonely Kal, not back then, not now. 

Because loneliness was truly Kal's Achilles's heels. Because Kal was Bruce's Achilles's heels. 

Bruce has spent years hating Kal because he loved him too much. 

Kal could make him smile, laugh and cry. Clark was honest and hardworking... and a nice, optimistic, guy overall. He was beautiful, hauntingly so, both with his poetic mind and his ageless body. 

With him around, Bruce is reckless enough to lose a sense of measure, of propriety. 

Bruce knows he should not be with Clark because the other makes him lose his mind. 

Still, he can't resist putting, hesitatingly, his hands around lonely Clark by the window.

When Clark leans into his embrace, Bruce knows he's been had by his friend's tricks. For once, he doesn't mind, all the drama seems to be drained from his mind and body.

He feels the Kryptonian's vitality inside his arms and he wants to make sure Clark never feels alone ever again.

"I like it," Clark admits, "when the day melts into the night."

The blue sky is almost entirely a darkish blue or purple while the sun makes the horizon seem blood red. 

"Why?" Bruce softly asks, also watching the exquisite sunset.

"Do you think we can be happy together?" Clark responds in a rare non-sequitur statement, with some uncertainty. 

With Clark nestled in his arms, Bruce can't help but feel optimistic and, for one moment, he actually believes Clark loves him, "We can try. I'm not exactly easy to deal with." 

Clark chuckles, "I think I know that by now. You'll have to teach me how to dance the salsa."

If Bruce didn't feel so serene, he would have panicked at the Clark and Lois's wedding reference. As it were, he simply puts his head beside Clark's, who shivers at the intimate contact, "Why would you want to dance the salsa?"

"I want to keep up with you, forever," Clark confesses, still letting Bruce's heat envelop him and fire him at the same time. 

"Besides," Clark continues with a soft laugh that make Bruce's last resolutions to stay away from Clark crumble to nothingness, "Life needs more salsa!"

"That's a bad pun," Bruce can't even erase the fondness from his voice. 

"Well, if we get our acts together, I think our synergy would blow this world away," Clark boyishly laughs and Bruce shakes with the shaking of Clark's shoulders. 

Bruce tightens his grip on Clark, fear already racing, **"I don't think getting our acts together will be that simple..."**

**"How did Jon change your mind?"** Clark answers.

Bruce breathes on Clark's neck, **"He told me you loved me and missed me."**

Clark is quiet for a moment, **"I told you that. I think all the League told you that and you never believed anyone."**

**"You would tell me you love whether or not it was true, just because you felt guilt at not seeing my love and killing me in an accident. The League would believe whatever you told them because you could always express your emotions better than I could. Jon had no interest in seeing us be together."**

Clarks laughs, **"You say that now, but I don't believe it. You've always been weak to kids and my son is a kid. Bruce, you're unbelievable. Most people rely solely on adults' opinions, you rely solely on kids'."**

**"Stop laughing," Bruce grumbles, while he knew he never wanted to stop that man from laughing. Clark thankfully didn't stop chuckling. 

The red light at the edge of the sky disappears completely from the dark blue sky, leaving them marvelling at their closeness despite everything. 

Clark imagines himself embraced by Bruce at different ages, growing old together, never alone in the vastness of the void surrounding the stars. Maybe, one day, Bruce would stop remembering the world in regrets. Maybe, one day, Clark would stop feeling alone in this world without Bruce. 

That day was far away. 

Now, he was blessed to be discussing with Bruce the best techniques to use in order to learn how to dance the salsa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end. 
> 
> It's not exactly "and they lived happily ever after", but it is still pretty positive in my opinion. 
> 
> Yes, Bruce will continue wallowing in regrets while Clark still fears isolation. Bruce still has mental health issues (although he is taking his pills now) and Clark still wants Bruce to live forever. Clark feels that love transcend time while Bruce is stuck thinking about his biggest regrets. At least, they are starting to address the issues together.
> 
> I hope you have all enjoyed this ride. Thanks for the encouragement in the forms of kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, kudos and comments.
> 
> I might actually post a extra chapter that I wrote about Clark taking care of amnesiac Bruce at the start, but this chapter is the end of the story.


	10. Extra chapter-Yesterday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clark tries to cope when Bruce is brought back from the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like mentioned in the previous chapter, this was a chapter I started to write at the beginning. I decided not to post it earlier because I liked the idea of initially describing the situation from Bruce's perspective. It also doesn't really add anything except illustrate Clark's isolation and guilt.
> 
> This story takes place at an unspecified time before the first chapter.

Clark looked at the room Bruce was staying in. He could feel his heartbeat change again as he was waking up.

"Whoever is playing with my mind, aren't you tired of playing this game?" Bruce asked the wall with a snarl, looking disoriented.

"Bruce," Clark responded, "Is there anything, in particular, you want for dinner?"

The man ignored the question, "Why am I here? What is going on?"

There was a pause as Clark leaned on the console. Bruce was off again, "Is your headache back so soon?"

Bruce ignored the show of concern, his eyes bulging, "Why are you doing this? Why am I still bound here? What do you want? I'm not going to admit anything."

Clark's voice answered, calm as if trying to reassure a young child, "Bruce, we talked about this earlier today. You are dangerous to yourself."

"WHY AM I HERE?" Bruce yelled, straining against the restraints. Thankfully, Clark had found restraints that didn't friction nor hurt much Bruce despite any wild trashing he made.

"Bruce," the voice continued, "breath in, breath out. You are having another attack."

"What did you do with my mind? Is this a dream?"

"It's not a nightmare, Bruce," Kal answered more coldly, "It's worse. I... I'm sorry."

Bruce growled like a mortally wounded caged animal. Kal always hated it when he was writhing like that.

"WHY DID YOU KILL JASON? I'LL KILL YOU!"

"Bruce, Jason is alive."

"Did I kill HIM?"

"No. You didn't kill Joker."

"Let me out and I will strangle him slowly. His guts will be given to dogs to feed on while I squeeze his life out. Die. He needs to die!"

It was painful to watch his former best friend, known for having one of the sharpest minds in humanity, acting like a raving maniac. Especially since it was Clark's fault.

His comm rung. "Superman," he answered keeping an eye on Bruce, but muting the sound of the room.

"Kal, don't tell me you are still at the Fortress," Diana's voice came clear and accusing.

Clark closed his eyes, "What do you want me to do?"

"We need you to help transport the refugees from the flood," she proceeded to explain the details of the when and how.

"I'm coming," Kal said, eyes still fixed on the thrashing figure combatting the restraints with all his considerable physical power.

Flying outside had always filled Kal with wonder, but the blues skies felt more like a mockery nowadays.

He helped the refugees, accepted thanks and got intercepted by Diana placing her hand on his arm before he could make good of his escape.

"Kal," she cautioned him,"We have to talk."

"I'm busy," he replied, still looking at the clouds drifting about, feeling the softness of the wind, while his mind was elsewhere.

She turned him around, "No. You are remorseful and you are losing sight of everything except your guilt. Stop torturing yourself."

He smiled in a parody of a smile, "What are you proposing, then, Diana?"

She crushed, even more, his arm, "Stop isolating yourself. Go back to your family."

He stared right through her. Shivers went through her, "I'm worried about you. Go see your family. Lois and Jon are waiting for you to come back."

"There are some places," Clark told her, solemnly, "people don't easily come back from."

"That's it, Kal. I've got enough of you acting cryptic. Explain yourself. You need help," she continued.

Clark shook his head, "I don't want the kind of help you are offering."

"Don't do this to yourself, Kal, you are not immortal. You don't eat; you don't sleep; you don't even see your family. You are going thin and weak."

Thin and weak. Clark still looked like a healthy human. Bruce was thin and weak.

"I have to go," Clark muttered and flew away before Diana could say something more.

Clark didn't even enjoy his flight back. He simply headed back to the Fortress, as fast as he could go without damaging anything, hoping Bruce would one day return to how he had been before.

Hope.

Clark knew hope and despair were sisters possessing him in an alternating manner, each driving the other to further depth.

At least, Bruce was alive.

Clark then heard the sickening thuds as Bruce banged his head back on the table with all the strength he could muster.

Horrified, Clark forced Bruce's head on the table, putting a stop to the self-harm.

A few moments later, during which Bruce screamed like a dying animal, the man in Clark's grasp blacked out. The Kryptonian gently dabbed the wound on the sleeping man and bandaged it.

He couldn't help himself from tenderly carding his friend's hair, "It's going to be okay..."

Kal knew he shouldn't touch Bruce like this without his permission, but his sense of morality was becoming more and more fluid, dangerously straying from what his parents had taught him.

He needed to touch Bruce just to have the courage to continue walking on this path.

"You'll be fine, I promise, Bruce." He cradled the man on his lap and played in his hair, hoping his friend would never find out about all of Clark's transgressions in his regard. 

Was it so wrong to go against someone's wishes just because you couldn't let that person go?

Clark didn't know the answer to that question. 

He only knew he was willing to accept any punishment, as long as it meant Bruce was no longer dead nor insane.

**Author's Note:**

> I should really write a fluff piece of Clark and Bruce sleeping on a beach without worries, just to compensate them for the hardships I make them endure in my works...


End file.
